


The Great Moppet Caper

by ElladuSang



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:20:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 59,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24279493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElladuSang/pseuds/ElladuSang
Summary: One year post series-ending, Giles requests Buffy's help to steal a dangerous mystical gem before it lands in the wrong hands when it seems one of the Scoobies has migrated to the dark side. Angst, unexpected declarations, slayer cookies, and Giles in 1920s stovepipe pants.
Relationships: Implied Past Rupert Giles/Ethan Rayne, Rupert Giles/Buffy Summers, Xander Harris/Dawn Summers
Comments: 19
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was something I wrote under another handle ages and ages ago, and just found it on my hard drive the other day. I quite like it and have found some great Buffy/Giles fic here recently, so thought I would archive it here in the hopes that others might likewise enjoy a feel-good diversion during all the Covid-19 drama. Hope you enjoy!

He’d meant to visit sooner than this. Under different circumstances. In clean clothes, smelling fresher and appearing as something other than one step above the vagrants in the streets below.  
  
But time had passed quickly since Sunnydale was destroyed and Giles had become heir to a globe teeming with slayers just coming into their own. The Watcher’s Council had needed a bit more than a simple spit and polish to get it up and running again; there were things that had to be done. And if he repeated that story enough times, he supposed even he would eventually believe it. Regardless of the validity, the fact remained that he and Buffy had barely spoken in the past year since moving overseas.  
  
While she had somewhat reluctantly made the trek to London upon occasion – strictly on Council business – Giles had done her one better by managing to avoid the trip to Rome completely. It was true that he had been occupied; there were slayers to train, financial matters to sort, a bountiful supply of global evil to fight. Of course, rumors of his former charge flouncing about Europe on the arm of flashy Italians with clichéd accents and the finest wardrobes hadn’t exactly made him rush out and charter the Council jet at a moment’s notice, either.  
  
Giles sighed, shifting slightly where he stood. None of that mattered now, however. Regardless of everything that had transpired in the past few years, the fact remained: Buffy was the only one whom he trusted implicitly – and the only one who could help him sort out the chaos that had recently rocked his position in the Council. Gathering his resolve, he took a deep breath and finally knocked on the door. His knuckles had barely made contact with the fine oak before it flew open.  
  
“Giles? Oh my god – Giles!”  
  
He smiled despite his trepidation at the look on Dawn’s face. She flew at him without a second’s hesitation, with a squeal of delight.  
  
“It’s about time you came to see us, Mister. I mean, seriously – I know you’re not my dad, and I totally know you’re not Buffy’s dad, but…hello, abandonment issues? I haven’t seen you since…”  
  
She stopped for breath, considering.  
  
“The Tower of London,” Giles prompted.  
  
“Right! The lame-o tour the Council took us on.” She slowed down, studying him for a moment. He remembered with a strange mix of pride and heartache the child she had once been. That child had all but vanished - Dawn was truly, irrevocably, breathtaking. Though she had on simple jeans and a cropped top, she wore them with the casual confidence of a fashion model; a young woman who knew quite well that she was attractive, and was used to getting the attention to prove it.  
  
“I’m sorry, Dawn – it’s been rather chaotic at the Council. But you look…” He smiled softly, looking her in the eye. “You look lovely. All grown up.”  
  
Dawn rolled her eyes, but was unable to hide the flush of pleasure at his compliment.  
  
“Yeah, tell that to uber-sis. Hello, eighteen is like a month away and she still won’t let me wear heels.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “But I think that’s just ‘cause she can’t take being dwarfed by little sis.”  
  
And then she appeared. Toweling her hair, engulfed in a white terry-cloth robe, Buffy padded across the lush carpeting barefoot. “Dawn, did I hear the – ” At sight of her former Watcher, she stopped short.  
  
“Giles? What are you doing here?”  
  
His smile faded at the cool reception. “I’m sorry. I should have called, I know. There simply wasn’t an opportunity…”  
  
Buffy shook her head, still looking at him guardedly. No welcoming hug, certainly no squeal of delight from this one, then. Not that he blamed her, really; their last year in Sunnydale had been fraught with tests that he had failed, miserably. As her Watcher but, more importantly, as her friend.  
  
Dawn cleared her throat. “Soooooo – Giles, are ya gonna come in or just let all of Rome get a peek at Buffy sans eye-liner?”  
  
He looked puzzled for a moment before realizing that he’d been standing in the open doorway this entire time. “Oh – of course. Sorry.” Stepping inside, he closed the door behind him. The room fell completely, hauntingly still.  
  
Giles looked around the flat, somewhat amazed at what Council funds had afforded the girls. Not that he begrudged them a penny, of course; Buffy had earned this and much more in her time as sole Slayer over the years. A faint smile touched his lips at the knowledge that she truly had an opportunity to live her life now. To be flighty, and young… perhaps even carefree.  
  
Buffy finally broke the silence, pulling him out of his reverie. “Giles – it’s not that I’m not glad to see you…”  
  
Dawn glared at her, an expression Giles remembered clearly as one of Buffy’s. The ‘mind your manners’ look.  
  
“We’re totally glad to see you, Giles. Buffy’s just mad she didn’t have time to get all Vogue’d up first.”  
  
“I am not,” his former Slayer protested. A glint of the child, in that instant; the bottom lip even came out, for the briefest second.  
  
“I just…” She rolled her eyes. “Giles, all I meant was that you don’t exactly look like… well, yourself. You’re rumpl-y Giles, which historically has never been of the good. What gives?”  
  
He looked around quickly, noting the way Dawn’s eyes had narrowed at mention of trouble. Shaking his head reassuringly, he forced a light smile.  
  
“Not at all – I’m feeling quite well, actually. A bit overworked is all, so I thought I’d just take a quick holiday, and pop by to see how you were.”  
  
Buffy quirked an eyebrow at him, obviously not believing a word he’d said. The knowledge was strangely comforting; after all that had happened, she could still sense at least a little of his mood. There was still some connection, however small.  
  
She turned to Dawn. “Do you mind hanging out here while Giles and I grab a bite?”  
  
The younger Summers looked as if she might make a fuss, but then the telephone rang. She dashed off to answer it; Giles heard a breathy “Ciao Frederico” before a rapid-fire string of nearly unintelligible Italian.  
  
Buffy smiled her relief. “She’s out for the count – boyfriend of the week.” She lowered her voice, taking a step closer to him. For the first time, Giles had a moment to take in her appearance. She was still too thin for her own good, her collarbone standing out in stark relief at the neck-line of her robe. But her face had lost the haggard, world-weariness of their final days in Sunnydale. She seemed healthy, far less weighted, than she had been.  
  
Their eyes met and she looked away self-consciously. She drew her robe more tightly around herself, then seemed to come to once more.  
  
“Giles, what’s going on?” She lowered her voice. “I talked to Will yesterday – she said there’s something going on with the Council. Slayer stuff is missing. She said there’s talk about you maybe – ”  
  
He was across the room and in front of her in an instant, the warning look in his eyes enough to stop her mid-sentence. When he spoke, his voice was deceptively calm, but the look on his face kept her silent.  
  
“Nothing to be concerned about, really. These things happen; I’m sure we’ll get it all sorted before long.”  
  
“Right,” Buffy said doubtfully.  
  
“So – you said something about food. I’d love it if you showed me your neighborhood.” He paused. “Unless you have plans, of course.”  
  
She shook her head. “No… Just hangin’ around the house today. Give me two seconds to get dressed, and I’ll be right out.”  
  
* * * * *  
  
Two seconds became, predictably enough, forty-five minutes. Dawn was off the phone before long, and came bounding in to settle herself beside him on the sofa.  
  
“That was Frederico,” she explained.  
  
He nodded, not certain what more was required. Apparently, nothing.  
  
“I met him in the Plaza. Total hottie. I bet you’d like him, too. He’s super intellecto-man. And he’s really into old music. The other day he got out these actual _records_ \- you know, vinyl? - of The Smiths, and I totally thought of you.”  
  
Another nod. She grinned suddenly, taking his arm, and the guilt that he felt for abandoning them was tangible, a fist clenched tight ‘round his heart. They were not his children; despite what others may have decided, there had never been the slightest danger of him mistaking Buffy for his daughter. The idea would have been laughable, if it hadn’t been so damned complicated. But Dawn… he clasped a hand over hers.  
  
“I’m glad you’re well. And Buffy? She seems to have adjusted well to life here.”  
  
There was something unreadable in her eyes at his question, some knowledge he didn’t have access to. Her smile softened, and she nodded.  
  
“Yeah, totally. She’s way into the whole Europe scene. Jet-setter extraordinaire, that’s Buff. The first few months here, she kind of overdid it, I think – it’s weird, because you’d think she would have been crazed party-girl before, when she figured she only had a few years of the old mortal coil. But then all of a sudden, there’s the idea that she could actually live a whole hundred-and-two years like the rest of us, and she was, like, nuts for the night life.”  
  
He’d heard stories to that effect around the Council. Water-cooler talk, mostly, but Giles knew enough to recognize that most water-cooler talk started with at least a grain of truth.  
  
“But she’s settling in now, you think?”  
  
The girl nodded, still watching him wisely, and he couldn’t imagine what strange ideas and scenarios she’d concocted. “Yeah, she’s good. She actually just broke up with the latest sleazoid boy toy, thank the gods.”  
  
This was unexpected. “The Immortal?”  
  
Dawn rolled her eyes until they nearly disappeared inside her head. “Bluck! Talk about cheese… I mean, seriously, who comes up with a name like The Immortal?” She giggled. “One time, he came over for dinner and I called him Mort, you know, as a joke, and I thought his head was gonna explode. He didn’t hang out around here much after that.”  
  
They were both giggling when Buffy reappeared, and Giles lost his train of thought entirely. She wore a simple, pale silk dress. Exquisitely feminine, its hem cut just below her knees, and when he took in the rest of her appearance, he realized that she’d cut her hair even shorter. It was now just below her chin, in an appealing bob that accentuated her cheekbones and made her eyes seem inexplicably larger. If Dawn was future fashion-model perfect, Buffy was something quite different. She had a grace and a quiet assurance about her now that went beyond her physical beauty, which would have been quite enough in and of itself. Giles swallowed with some difficulty, and stood.  
  
“Shall we?”  
  
Buffy motioned to the door and he nodded, calling over her shoulder as they left.  
  
"Don’t burn anything down, and if I come back here and there is a boy anywhere in this apartment… I still have Slayer strength, and I still know how to use it.”  
  
Giles suppressed a grin. Once outside, she looked up at him.  
  
“Giles?”  
  
He nodded, still mesmerized by the woman at his side. “Yes?”  
  
The corners of her lips quirked up in a slight smile, her eyes sliding somewhere left of his own. “I really am glad you’re here.”  
  
It was a hurried confession; even beyond his relief at her admission, Giles felt a wash of sadness at how much it still cost her to risk such small endearments. He smiled, meeting her eye.  
  
“I’m glad, too.”  
  
* * * * *  
  
Buffy led her former Watcher through the streets of Rome, and – despite the beauty of the city and the wonder of the crisp fall day – he couldn’t seem to take his eyes from her. She seemed so at ease here. Locals greeted her with casual fondness; as they passed a street vendor, the elderly man grinned impishly and shouted his admiration after her.  
  
She turned, and for an instant, Giles remembered the Buffy of old - thought they might even be in for a fight. But she delivered a quick retort in almost-flawless Italian, and the man blushed endearingly.  
  
“It seems you’ve settled in nicely here. You and Dawn have both done extremely well… Your mother would be very proud.”  
  
She looked at him then – studying him, seeming suddenly to be caught in an internal debate. His words didn’t seem to please her. A heavy silence fell between them as they walked on, and finally – as they walked yet another of the narrow avenues toward heaven-knew-where – she stopped abruptly.  
  
Squinting against the noon-day Italian sun, she looked up to catch his eye. “Giles, it’s not that I’m not happy to see you, because I am.” She paused, seeming about to say something more before she stopped. Her eyes searched his, her jaw set. “But it’s been over a year since Sunnydale. I get a random phone call from you when there’s a meeting in London. There’s the monthly update from Willow on Council biz…. I got a card from you for my birthday, and a fruit basket for Christmas.”  
  
The way she said fruit basket suggested that she may have decided against the use of some rather creative modifiers. He agreed; that sodding fruit basket was the last thing he’d wanted to send. But everything else seemed either woefully inadequate or wholly inappropriate. So… Fruit basket.  
  
Buffy took a deep breath, her expression hardening. “So, Giles, what’s up? Is Rome about to be sucked into hell, because if so, I’d like to get some stuff packed. The last time my hometown got Hoovered, I was kinda caught off guard.”  
  
He glanced around them, waiting until a woman with two small children had passed them by and were safely out of listening range.  
  
“What did Willow tell you about the items that had gone missing?”  
  
A flash of what looked strangely like disappointment crossed her face, before being replaced with triumph.  
  
“I knew it! I knew you weren’t just here to see me.” She considered his question. “Will didn’t say much – just that a couple of books had been taken, and a sword or something. And that because you’re the guy in charge, people are getting kind of blame-y. I figured you’ve just got a sticky-fingered Slayer in the ranks. Some newbie pulling a Dawn.”  
  
He was silent long enough to elicit a prompting “Giles” from his companion. He sighed, removing his glasses as he considered where to begin.  
  
“I’m afraid it’s more serious than that. The texts that were taken were both sacred volumes detailing vampire lore. The sword was an enchanted saber found in Bolivia several years ago.”  
  
“So, you’ve got a klepto with expensive – but boring – taste. I still don’t see why that should bring on Watcher-Slayer reunion ’04.”  
  
He rolled his eyes. “Well, if you would let me finish, perhaps you would see the significance.”  
  
At his tone, a soft smile lit her features. Their eyes met once more, and he was reminded of his reception upon returning to Sunnydale to stop Willow after Tara’s death. But just as suddenly, the softening vanished; she swallowed, looking away, and when she looked at him again, her expression was cloaked, utterly unreadable.  
  
“So, spill already. What do you want?”  
  
He sighed. Quite right – get on with it. No time to agonize over the myriad number of things he’d done to destroy the bond they’d developed over the years. No going back. There was still the business at hand, just as always.  
  
“Yes. The volumes that were taken detail the only ways to kill a vampire in possession of the Gem of Imara.”  
  
“Well then, no big. Angel squashed that years ago. It went poof, Giles.”  
  
He shook his head. “Not as much as we’d hoped, I’m afraid. It seems the ring was part of a matched set; the gem was split into two stones. The second was placed in an amulet.”  
  
Buffy’s eyes widened. “Geez, Giles, why didn’t you just say so. We’ve gotta get that necklace.”  
  
She led them to a sidewalk café, where Giles chose a small table as far from the other patrons as possible. After the waiter – a predictably handsome lad whose eyes lingered at Buffy’s neck line for far longer than seemed entirely necessary – had taken their order and gone, the Watcher continued.  
  
“We have it.”  
  
“You have it?” Her brow furrowed. Despite himself, he was pleased at how thoroughly she was intrigued by this. “So what’s the problem? Smash it. Or lock it in a box somewhere and bury it at sea… I mean, it’s not exactly rocket science here. What do you want me to do about it?”  
  
His eyeglasses came off at that, and he caught the blurred flash of a nostalgic smile from her before he turned his attention to polishing his lenses.  
  
“It seems the Council hierarchy has voted not to destroy the necklace, but rather to hold it for further study. The problem, however, is…”  
  
He paused, frowning, and Buffy grabbed his hand unexpectedly in an attempt to get his attention. At the contact after keeping careful distance for so very long, Giles felt a jolt of electricity so keen that it had the opposite effect entirely: His train of thought was all but obliterated. Buffy must have felt it, as well - she dropped his hand as if burned, swallowed with some effort, and leaned in to hiss menacingly at him.  
  
“Giles, spill it already. What aren’t you telling me?”  
  
He nodded, and this time he didn’t stop until the entire story was out. By the time he’d finished, his tea was stone cold, there was a definite chill in the air, and the foam on Buffy’s cappuccino was looking decidedly deflated. As was Buffy.  
  
“So you guys were the only ones who knew how to get to that stuff? Just the Scoobs?”  
  
He shrugged. “For the first book, there were others: Xander, Willow, Kennedy, Andrew, and Grace, my assistant.”  
  
“And for the second?”  
  
“I didn’t tell Grace or Andrew.”  
  
“So you, Willow, Xander, and Kennedy.” She thought for only a split second before coming to the same conclusion he had come to initially. “Well, then, it’s gotta be Kennedy. So you go back to London, lock her up, figure out whose Big Bad Thumb she’s under…” She paused, pursing her lips as though she’d just bitten into something sour. “That sucks for Will, though.” Her eyes widened. “God, you don’t think she’s gonna try to end the world again, do you? Because if we have to go through that for every break up, I vote convent. Something with pretty gardens and a big mystical iron fence.”  
  
He shook his head. “No, I think she has more control than that now. And no one will ever mean to her what Tara meant.” He paused, the young Wicca’s name falling hard between them, before pressing on. “But you aren’t listening – only three people knew about the saber.”  
  
Buffy took a breath. “You, Willow, and Xander.”  
  
He nodded. “Precisely. And I know only that it wasn’t me.”  
  
“So you’re saying Willow or Xander went bad.”  
  
“I’m not saying that – there could be a spell. Or someone could somehow have tapped into their consciousnesses.”  
  
“But no one could tap into the Watcher’s brain, I guess.”  
  
He straightened, frankly just a touch offended. “Certainly not. I’ve been well-trained. I – I have a formidable strength of will.”  
  
“Don’t I know it,” she cracked dryly.  
  
“And you’re one to talk. Besides,” he confessed, “I went to the coven; they checked my aura. I seem to be clean.”  
  
“So why don’t you just get Will and Xand’s auras checked? Just give ‘em a once-over and a cookie, and you’re good to go.”  
  
“It’s not that simple.”  
  
She smiled outright at that, rolling her eyes. “Nothing ever is. How did I know you were gonna say that?”  
  
He matched her smile. “Because you know me, I suppose.”  
  
Their eyes met across the table, something unspoken hanging between them before she finally cleared her throat, looking away.  
  
“So, what gives, Giles?” Her tone was unexpectedly hard, tinged with iron. “What do you want me to do about this? Slay my best friends?” When he didn’t rush to argue the point, she added defensively, “Because I’m still opposed to that.”  
  
He nodded, glancing at the faces in the café around them. With a deep breath, he took the plunge.  
  
“I’d like you to accompany me to the fundraiser that the Council is holding in two weeks.” He paused, just barely letting the first request sink in before he continued with the second. “And then I’d like you to help me steal the Imaran amulet.”  
  
Silence fell between them. And persisted. Buffy opened her mouth several times to speak, and then closed it abruptly. He wasn’t certain which part of his proposal was causing more consternation: the idea of her as his date or the idea of stealing the amulet.  
  
Finally, she found words. “You mean the big twenties dance? The big ball thingy?”  
  
He nodded silently.  
  
“Well – I… I wasn’t even gonna go.”  
  
Giles nodded. “I know – Willow said you weren’t planning to attend.” He cleared his throat, averting his eyes as he continued. “But… It seems that this is rather a good reason for you to put your distaste for such occasions aside.”  
  
She rolled her eyes. “Giles, please – I love dress up, you know that. But I just…” Shifting in her seat, she stirred her cappuccino idly before continuing. “The Council still gives me the heebie-jeebies… even if it’s your Council now. The only people I know there are Willow and Xander, and some of the potentials. And the Slayerettes still aren’t exactly my biggest fans.”  
  
“I do understand, of course… But, Buffy, this is a matter of some urgency.”  
  
Setting her mug aside, she studied him closely. He struggled not to look away under the intensity of her gaze, and realized that she was reading him rather more adeptly than she had when she was younger.  
  
“There’s something you’re not telling me. You’re in charge of the Council, Giles – just veto everybody else and smash the amulet, no harm no foul.”  
  
He shook his head. “I can’t do that… The Board is watching me quite closely at the moment, and they’re determined that we keep the stone intact. This is the only way that I can think of to ensure that it stays on the proper side of things. At the moment, I’m the only one who knows its location; the day before the fundraiser, the amulet will arrive in London. I can’t keep it safe there, on anyone’s terms but my own.”  
  
She was thinking about it – he could see the wheels turning, in the way that she traced battle plans on the linen table cloth before them with a delicate fingertip. Finally, she sat back and looked at him, the decision plain on her face.  
  
“All right – so, I’m in. But how, exactly, do you think anyone’s gonna buy me as your date when it’s pretty common knowledge that we haven’t been in the same room together for longer than, oh, twenty seconds, since Sunnydale?”  
  
He offered a small smile, the sadness plain on his face at the truth of her statement. “I suppose we’ll just have to convince them that that’s changed.”  
  



	2. Chapter 2

“He’s staying – here?” Dawn looked at her sister doubtfully, later that afternoon. “For the whole week?”  
  
“And then we’ll go back to London for a few days.”  
  
The look of doubt turned to frank disbelief. “But you barely talked to him for like a year. And you never even had The Immortal over for more than dinner. And this is a _girl’s_ apartment. Giles is – ”  
  
“Right here, actually, Dawn, thank you,” Giles interrupted dryly. It was nice to know some things hadn’t changed. The Summers women were still apparently able to make him vanish at will.  
  
“Sorry – I know, you’re here. But it’s just… There are girl’s things here.” She looked at him significantly and he raised a questioning eyebrow. “You know – _Girl’s_ things.”  
  
He stifled a smile. “And I’m sure I’ll wither and die at sight of the first drying thong or discarded feminine hygiene product.”  
  
Dawn’s eyes widened in horror, and even Buffy laughed at her expression.  
  
“You seem to forget that I played host to a number of teenage girls in Sunnydale. I have even, upon occasion, been the one to drive to the corner store for emergency tampons.”  
  
“That only happened once,” Buffy protested.  
  
He smiled at the memory: Buffy, seventeen, inarticulate as ever, stuttering into the phone. It had been a good fifteen minutes before he’d realized she wasn’t in mortal danger.  
  
“Besides,” Buffy continued, “Andrew lived here and you had no problem with that.”  
  
“That’s because Andrew is girlier than I am. Giles is…” she lowered her voice, as though giving away a well-guarded secret. “…a man.”  
  
“Well, thank you for that, at any rate.” He sighed. “Really, Dawn, it’s not as though I’m moving in with you permanently. It’s only for the week, while we all get re-acquainted.”  
  
As soon as things had been resolved with Dawn, Giles set about arranging his few things in the spare room. Given his knowledge of Andrew’s eccentricities, the room was surprising only in its lavishness. A bookcase was set against one wall, filled with one of the most extensive film collections Giles had ever seen; a large flat-screen television took up the opposite wall. The room itself had been done in deep reds and mahogany, with the bureau and dresser both obviously part of a matched set that included the handsome, queen-sized bed.  
  
While Giles was pleased that Dawn and Buffy seemed to be living so well, he made a mental note to double-check Andrew’s expense account. Fighting on the side of right through a single apocalypse hardly merited the lifestyle to which it seemed the Watcher-in-Training was rapidly becoming accustomed.  
  
No sooner had Giles unpacked his things and re-joined Buffy and Dawn in the sitting room than Andrew himself swept in. Behind him, he dragged a trunk large enough to house a small village. At sight of the Summers women with Buffy’s former Watcher, he stopped short.  
  
“Mr. Giles – what are you doing here?” He turned to Dawn, speaking loudly out of the side of his mouth in an apparent attempt at discretion. “I thought they weren’t speaking.”  
  
Dawn returned the gesture, hissing back, “They weren’t – but they made up, and now Giles is living here.”  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes at Giles; he found himself grinning despite his best efforts. Council chaos was markedly lacking in the petty annoyances and silly interactions to which he’d become so accustomed in Sunnydale. Andrew’s eyes widened at Dawn’s latest revelation.  
  
“No way! Wow…” He looked first at Buffy, then at Giles. “She always did like ‘em older, I guess. But you should be careful, sir: a Slayer’s heart is a harsh mistress.” The boy nodded wisely, all but stroking an imaginary beard as he continued. “I remember the first Slayer I bedded.”  
  
Dawn snorted rudely. “Sure – in your dreams, maybe. Name one Slayer who would even think about getting it on with you.”  
  
“Shut up!” Andrew snapped, quickly falling back into the role of whining halfwit that Giles remembered from Sunnydale. “Cynthia totally wanted me this summer.”  
  
“Please,” Dawn sneered. “Cynthia is so totally not a Slayer it’s not even funny.”  
  
“Mr. Giles, tell her that Cynthia is too a Slayer.”  
  
Giles turned pointedly to Buffy. “Are you still up for dinner?”  
  
She shrugged. “Have you ever known me to turn down a free meal?”  
  
Andrew perked up at that. “Ooh – where are we going? There’s this fabulous little place just a couple of blocks from here; their risotto is to die for.”  
  
Buffy sighed, taking Giles by surprise by linking her arm through his as they headed for the door.  
  
“Welcome to my world.”  
  
* * * * *  
  
For the next week, the intention was for Buffy and Giles to be together and as visible as possible around Rome. And while Buffy seemed to enjoy his company as she played tour guide, there was a tangible distance between them. When they returned home in the evenings she invariably retired to her room almost immediately, leaving Giles to be alternately entertained or annoyed by Dawn and Andrew’s antics.  
  
And all the while, the day of the Council fundraiser drew closer. Buffy had resumed a training routine once their plan for the theft had been set. Mornings, she went running, followed by thirty minutes of calisthenics (to music that had mercifully matured from the mind-numbing rot Giles remembered from her high school days). They sparred in the afternoons, in a fully equipped gym close to her flat. Evenings, the unlikely quartet generally went out for a late dinner, occasionally joined by Dawn’s latest suitor. It was all perfectly…cordial, and yet Giles found himself wondering if he were truly making any kind of connection with Buffy at all. Despite the fact that they were now living under the same roof, his former Slayer seemed bent on ensuring that any and all time that they spent together was filled with activity.  
  
It wasn’t until the night before they were all to return to London that he got a glimpse into just how much damage had been done to their relationship in recent years. Buffy had fled to her room after dinner, as had become custom, and Giles had decided it best that he retire early for a good night’s sleep before the inevitable onslaught of responsibilities that returning to London would bring. However, he’d no more than turned out the lights and settled in when Andrew and Dawn catapulted into the room with popcorn and movies.  
  
Giles peered out from beneath the covers as the room was flooded with light, not terribly amused to find Dawn bouncing brightly on the edge of his bed.  
  
“Come on, Giles – it’s your last night here. Movie-pa-looza. In your honor, we got a whole bunch of stuffy English movies.”  
  
“They’re not stuffy,” Andrew argued immediately, his voice taking on that strange tone that he regularly adopted when speaking about movies - as though he were reciting a film critique he’d not quite committed to memory. “They’re fraught with the kind of tragedy inevitable as passionate souls struggle to conform to the stifling constraints of British aristocracy.”  
  
Dawn rolled her eyes, handing Giles his glasses when he fumbled his hand over the bedside table. “Whatever. I just know I was promised quality Hugh Grant and/or Colin Firth bonding, otherwise we would so be watching Evil Dead right now.”  
  
“Anyway,” Andrew continued, unfazed, “I think it’s all pretty romantic. And particularly apt for the company we’re keeping.” He sat down beside Dawn, forcing Giles to withdraw to a smaller personal bubble at the far edge of the bed. A cot had been procured for Andrew when Giles had first arrived, but it seemed this evening that the bed was the preferred locale. The older man moaned inwardly as he sensed where Andrew was headed. “You and Buffy face similar obstacles, certainly. With your stern, upright sensibilities and Buffy’s carefree, West-Coast vigor – “  
  
“Plus she barely talks to you anymore and by the time you finally get up the nerve to make a move, one of you’s gonna be dead. For good, this time,” Dawn added dryly, pointedly making eye contact with Giles as the words were spoken.  
  
He sighed. This was not a new conversation, by any means; Andrew was obsessed with the idea of the “forbidden love of a Watcher and his Slayer.” It was, however, the first time that Dawn had joined her comrade-in-arms in the assault. Trying to maintain a semblance of disinterest, he nevertheless risked pressing the issue momentarily.  
  
“Firstly, you are both profoundly ridiculous on several levels. Secondly…” he paused, removing his glasses and polishing them with more fervor than he’d intended, using a square of his pajama top. _“Secondly,_ as you mentioned, Dawn, Buffy has made it quite plain that she has no interest in spending any more time with me than is absolutely necessary. I fail to see why you both persist in this delusion.”  
  
Dawn heaved a great, long-suffering sigh, and pulled her knees up to her chest as she directed all of her attention to the Watcher, now curled up tightly in a corner of the bed rubbing furiously at his glasses.  
  
“Giles, you were a class-A jerk. We all were – but I, for one, made up for it. And I’m the little sister, so she was totally used to me being a class-A jerk. You were the one who never made mistakes, and then you made like six-gazillion in about twenty seconds. And then you just took off. No ‘sorry I tried to kill your old boyfriend,’ no ‘oops – guess I messed up when I voted to boot you out of the house…’ Just poof, and you’d Houdini’d out of her life like the last seven years never even happened.”  
  
Giles finally put his glasses back on. Andrew was watching him curiously, gobbling popcorn as though he’d decided this was the night’s feature. The older man turned his attention to Dawn, whose mouth had gone from that familiar grin he’d come to treasure to a somewhat formidable straight line.  
  
“I realize that I handled it badly, Dawn. I’m doing my best to make up for it.”  
  
“By taking her out for dinner every night, training with her till you both can barely stand, and then leaving her alone again?” She harrumphed, folding arms over chest and turning her back to him. “Good strategy, Custer.”  
  
Andrew took a sip of something from his giant Star Wars mug, nodding wisely as he had one of those rare moments of insight that always threw Giles so completely. “It’s true. You’re only feeding the issues she already has by continually abandoning her.”  
  
Something slipped into place in his mind suddenly; something he’d refused to see – either out of stubbornness or sheer stupidity. When he’d left Sunnydale the first time, it was because Buffy was gone. And though he knew that the others needed him, that he had a place there and a reason to stay, he simply couldn’t bear to be reminded continually of how he’d failed. What he’d lost. When he left again, the reason that he gave himself was the same reason that he’d given Buffy: she needed to stand on her own. And while that was certainly partly true, a much larger part of the equation was that he’d come to recognize that she relied on him as she would a parent. He couldn’t fill that role – not now, and most definitely not then. Not when he’d just realized how deeply inappropriate his feelings for the girl had become.   
  
Andrew was slurping the last of his drink from the mug, staring at Giles intently, and Dawn had her head tilted just slightly to the side, one eyebrow quirked in question. Giles sighed, recognizing that they were correct, at least in part. It hardly mattered whether or not Buffy harbored feelings for him or not, as they both seemed to think she did. What mattered was that he stop being a complete, selfish prat about this. He’d been punishing her for years now, whether subconsciously or not, withdrawing his love and support when it suited him merely because she was not responding to him in the way that he wanted. He had been cast in a role that was irrevocably paternal, yet he revolted every time she treated him as a father figure. No wonder she was confused.  
  
No wonder he was.  
  
With another sigh, he made a move to leave the bed. Dawn stopped him. “Wait – where are you going? We haven’t even started the movie yet. And I totally have more insights on this whole thing.”  
  
He thought quickly, drawing on one of the more interesting topics he’d observed the pair returning to over the week in order to divert their attention. “You’re both very sweet. But this is really quite ridiculous – Buffy and I stand no more chance together than…” He paused a moment to make sure they were both listening. “…oh, Xander and Dawn, for example. Completely absurd, really.”  
  
Andrew pounced immediately. “Xander totally has the hots for you,” he advised Dawn.  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Please - you are so Mr. Delusio-Man." In the same breath, she turned to Giles, who was putting on his robe and heading for the door. “Wait - why don’t I stand a chance with Xander?”  
  
“You totally stand a chance,” Andrew continued. “I bet Xander would even show you under his eye patch. And he doesn’t show that to anyone, even if they buy him six beers and wait on him all night and promise to let him hold their original, mint Boba Fett.”  
  
They were still debating about the strange idea of a Xander-Dawn pairing (though Giles had to admit that it was much less strange than a nineteen-year-old boy and an eleven-hundred-year-old former vengeance demon – may she rest in peace), when Giles quietly shut the door behind him and headed for the kitchen to find a place more amenable to quiet contemplation.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Apparently, Buffy had had the same thought. She sat on a stool in pajama bottoms and a sheer top, shivering as she peered inside the open refrigerator.  
  
“Is this some strange new type of self-flagellation, or are you just trying to acclimate yourself to London weather?”  
  
She looked up, the briefest scowl crossing her face before she returned her attention to the contents of the refrigerator.  
  
“I’m hungry. But I don’t know what for.”  
  
He took a step closer, looking over her shoulder at the nearly empty shelves. “We could go out and get something, if you’d like.”  
  
There was a pause. When she finally spoke, her voice was tinged with a plainly bitter edge. “Don’t want to miss a chance to be seen around town with the Slayer, huh? At least, not when it’s part of the job.”  
  
Hesitantly, he lay a hand on her shoulder. She tensed at his touch, scrambling off the stool hastily and out of his grasp.  
  
“Buffy, we should talk.”  
  
“Forget it, Giles.” She shook her head, averting her eyes. “I’m talked out. Anyway, I’m not hungry anymore. I’m going to bed.”  
  
“Buffy.” He took a step toward her, trying desperately not to notice the transparency of her top, the way that her nipples stood out in stark relief beneath the fabric. Swallowing with some difficulty, he looked away quickly. She caught the look, though, confusion crossing her features. When he met her gaze again, he was horrified to find tears pooling in her lovely green eyes.  
  
“I’ll see you in the morning, Giles. Training as usual.”  
  
She turned before he could even begin to find words to explain himself, and left him alone.  
  



	3. Chapter 3

The first five days in London flew. Giles had Council business that consumed most of his time; Buffy busied herself with training, looking after Dawn, and conducting a few surprise lectures with the Slayers-in-Training. Giles did manage to take Buffy on a tour of the facilities where the fundraiser would be held, upon first arriving in London. He’d procured blueprints prior to that, and he and Buffy had made close study of security, entrances and exits, and the like while still in Rome.  
  
The day that they were to tour the facility, Buffy arrived nearly half-an-hour late, looking harassed and slightly haggard. Despite Giles’ offer that she and Dawn stay at his flat while they were in London, she had insisted that it was more appropriate that they remain in Council guest quarters. By the look of her that morning, however, it seemed she might be regretting her decision.  
  
“Sorry I’m late,” she said immediately upon meeting him. She held a large cup of steaming coffee in one gloved hand, and was wrapped snugly in a wool pea-coat, a matching hat hiding her golden hair. He'd always loved those rare Sunnydale days when it was cool enough for her to pull out her winter garb, and noted yet again how lovely she was. He shrugged off her apology.  
  
“No bother. I barely noticed.”  
  
She grinned, the sight welcome after the deep freeze he’d received of late. “Wow; we _must_ be fighting. You came out of the womb checking your watch – there’s no way you didn’t know that I’m like twenty minutes late.”  
  
He met her grin with a dry smile of his own, holding her eyes for just an instant before she looked away. “Twenty-eight minutes, actually. Shall we go in?”  
  
They were greeted by a burly uniformed man with an affable grin and a topping of curly orange hair sticking out in all directions beneath his cap. He clapped Giles on the shoulders so hard the Watcher nearly spit out his tea.  
  
“Mr. Giles – lovely to see you. And who have we here?” The man winked at Buffy, and she smiled winningly at the cockney accent and the easy way the man had with Giles. “Watch out for this one – comes off like a gentleman but I’ve seen more than one lady pass through these doors. Takes ‘em here to impress ‘em, is the way I figure it.”  
  
"Ssh - that's supposed to be our little secret, Eliot. This is Buffy Summers. Buffy, Eliot Sharpe. Head of security.”  
  
At the name, the man came promptly to attention, removing his hat and straightening where he stood. “It’s an honor, Miss Summers. You’re something of a legend ‘round these old halls.”  
  
Buffy looked at Giles quizzically, a slight blush climbing her cheeks. “Um – thanks, I guess.”  
  
Giles smiled reassuringly. “Eliot is also with the Council. We thought it best given recent circumstances that we have someone with an idea of the larger picture overseeing the event.” He turned to the uniformed man. “I just wanted to show Buffy a bit of the setup for tomorrow evening.”  
  
“Of course. Any help’s much appreciated; if you see any way I can tighten things, just give a shout.”  
  
Giles nodded, taking Buffy’s arm and leading her down the hall. He called over his shoulder as they left. “Give my love to Mia and Job.”  
  
They walked silently down the hall toward the room where the Imaran amulet was to be housed. As they moved, Giles was aware of his companion’s eyes on him. Finally, he turned to her curiously.  
  
“Is something wrong?”  
  
There was a depth of sadness in her eyes that made him pause. He was so tired of seeing that sadness – not only in her, but in Willow and Xander as well. They had all managed to survive the Hellmouth, but it had sapped something vital from each of them before it finally closed in on itself. Buffy paused before finally speaking.  
  
“You must have hated Sunnydale so much.” Something about the way she said it told him clearly that she wasn’t speaking of the town.  
  
“I didn’t hate...Sunnydale. I _don’t_ hate Sunnydale.”  
  
Her eyes instantly filled with tears, and she looked away quickly. “I’ve seen the way people treat you here. How much they love you, and respect you. Back home, all you had were a bunch of bratty teenagers who fought everything you did. And then every week or so you’d get conked on the head for your trouble.”  
  
Despite the gravity of the situation, he smiled ruefully at how sadly accurate her description was. “It’s true – it was difficult to make my way there, to truly understand how I fit in that world.” He stopped walking, turning and holding her eyes with his own, desperate to regain the connection they’d lost. “But that was never your fault, Buffy – I never blamed you for it. I chose to go to Sunnydale, and nothing in the world could make me take back those years. I cherish my memories there, Hellmouth or no. Watching you grow up…”  
  
Before the words were even out, he saw the effect that they had on her. Instantly, her face hardened. She looked away, shrugging her thin shoulders as though by doing so she could shake off the turmoil within. “Until I grew up, and you realized – ”  
  
She stopped herself abruptly, but he wouldn’t let her end it there. Grabbing her arm, he turned her around and forced her to look at him. “Realized what, Buffy?”  
  
Silence fell between them, so thick, so impenetrable that it felt as though a third body had entered the room. Their eyes held as the seconds passed – his curious, filled with endless regret; hers posing a challenge he could not accept simply because he had no idea what that challenge was. What did she want from him? He dropped his voice a tone lower, his jaw set.  
  
“Buffy – what do you believe that I realized?”  
  
She swallowed hard, a faint shine covering her eyes as they filled with fresh tears before she pulled away from him quickly.  
  
“We should get to work. Just tell me what I need to do to get the amulet for you, then we should go.”  
  
Once her back was turned, he knew that it was pointless to pursue this any further. The look on her face haunted him, the accusation in her eyes an indictment of his shoddy treatment of her in the past few years. But her thought process itself remained a mystery. As a man, he was well-used to being confounded by the female mind, but Buffy seemed a different species entirely. He was completely, irrevocably lost. With a heavy sigh, he returned to the task at hand. Deciphering his former Slayer’s behavior would have to come later.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The exhibition room was relatively small, and would provide little challenge security-wise. Giles had overseen the system himself, so he knew that he could create a temporal disturbance large enough to offset the wiring for a short period of time, but small enough not to draw undue attention. Long enough, at any rate, for Buffy to slip in and pocket the amulet. And while Eliot was more than competent at his job, Giles had observed his routine closely in order to learn when the man would be away from his post, patrolling other areas of the hall.  
  
The plan was for Buffy to be in the room for no more than the two minutes it would take her to sneak inside and take the gem once Giles had disabled the security system. He’d gone through a local contact to get an exact replica of the amulet. Buffy need only replace the one in the case, and then return to the party. By the time anyone realized that the amulet was a fake, Giles would ideally have bought enough time to find the culprit of the other thefts.  
  
After they’d taken a few moments to go over the plan and study the layout of the room, there was a drawn-out silence before Buffy finally turned to him impatiently.  
  
“Are we done with the stealthathon? Is this all I need to know?”  
  
He nodded, reminded suddenly of just how exhausting fighting with her could be. And it was all the more frustrating because he still wasn’t entirely sure what they were fighting _about._ Infuriated to find that he was resorting to the same kind of childish behavior as she, he shrugged callously.  
  
“Unless you can think of something else.”  
  
“Nope.” Her lips a straight line, avoiding his eye. “So I should probably get back to Dawn now.”  
  
“Yes. That’s probably best.”  
  
Without another word, she turned on her heel and stalked out, leaving Giles seething at their inability to communicate. Watching her stride down the empty corridor, he vowed silently that, one way or another, he was going to get to the bottom of this before their visit was done.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Xander and Willow were both away on business for the better part of the week, and with Dawn and Buffy staying at the Council, there was no opportunity for them all to get together until Friday evening, the night before the fundraiser. At that point, Council board members, trustees, and other officials from around the globe had arrived in anticipation of the event the following evening. Headquarters was filled to the brim, and the Summers sisters had no alternative but to take Giles up on his offer to stay at his flat for the remainder of their stay.  
  
Xander had been living with Giles since they’d all left Sunnydale behind. The Watcher had initially told the younger man that if he needed an increase in salary to support himself, all he need do was ask. But Xander had protested, shifting his gaze uncomfortably, finally settling on the argument that he traveled too much to justify spending so much for an apartment of his own.  
  
It was only then that Giles realized that the boy had never actually lived alone for any extended period of time. And so he had dropped the subject, expecting that Xander would make the move when he felt himself ready. Now, a year and a half after Anya had died, Giles sensed that that time was slowly coming near. While Xander still held rigidly to the seeming vow of celibacy he’d invoked since his former fiance’s death, he was at least venturing out socially again. He seemed less tremulous, more assured – less likely to break under the strain of a past whose pain Giles was only now coming to understand.  
  
Friday evening seemed, to Giles, the perfect opportunity to set some old demons to rest – not just for Buffy, but for all of them. All he wanted was an opportunity to make them forget the traumas of the past few years; bury all the hurt, and take comfort in one another’s presence the way they once had. If he were still the reckless youth he had once been, similar to Willow in so many ways, he supposed he would have cast a spell to have his will done. Now, however, he resorted to the next best thing: A party.


	4. Chapter 4

The first five days in London flew. Giles had Council business that consumed most of his time; Buffy busied herself with training, looking after Dawn, and conducting a few surprise lectures with the Slayers-in-Training. Giles did manage to take Buffy on a tour of the facilities where the fundraiser would be held, upon first arriving in London. He’d procured blueprints prior to that, and he and Buffy had made close study of security, entrances and exits, and the like while still in Rome.

The day that they were to tour the facility, Buffy arrived nearly half-an-hour late, looking harassed and slightly haggard. Despite Giles’ offer that she and Dawn stay at his flat while they were in London, she had insisted that it was more appropriate that they remain in Council guest quarters. By the look of her that morning, however, it seemed that she might be regretting her decision.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said immediately upon meeting him. She held a large cup of steaming coffee in one gloved hand, and was wrapped snugly in a wool pea-coat, a matching hat hiding her golden hair; he'd always loved those rare Sunnydale days when it was cool enough for her to pull out her winter garb, and noted yet again how lovely she was. He shrugged off her apology.

“No bother. I barely noticed.”

She grinned, the sight welcome after the deep freeze he’d received of late. “Wow; we must be fighting. You came out of the womb checking your watch – there’s no way you didn’t know that I’m like twenty minutes late.”

He met her grin with a dry smile of his own, holding her eyes for just an instant before she looked away. “Twenty-eight minutes, actually. Shall we go in?”

They were greeted by a burly uniformed man with an affable grin and a topping of curly orange hair sticking out in all directions beneath his cap. He clapped Giles on the shoulders so hard the Watcher nearly spit out his tea.

“Mr. Giles – lovely to see you. And who have we here?” The man winked at Buffy, and she smiled winningly at the cockney accent and the easy way the man had with Giles. “Watch out for this one – comes off like a gentleman but I’ve seen more than one lady pass through these doors. Takes ‘em here to impress ‘em, is the way I figure it.”

"Ssh - that's supposed to be our little secret, Eliot. This is Buffy Summers. Buffy, Eliot Sharpe. Head of security.”

At the name, the man came promptly to attention, removing his hat and straightening where he stood. “It’s an honor, Miss Summers. You’re something of a legend ‘round these old halls.”

Buffy looked at Giles quizzically, a slight blush climbing her cheeks. “Um – thanks, I guess.”

Giles smiled reassuringly. “Eliot is also with the Council; we thought it best given recent circumstances that we have someone with an idea of the larger picture overseeing the event.” He turned to the uniformed man. “I just wanted to show Buffy a bit of the setup for tomorrow evening.”

“Of course. Any help’s much appreciated; if you see any way I can tighten things, just give a shout.”

Giles nodded, taking Buffy’s arm and leading her down the hall. He called over his shoulder as they left. “Give my love to Mia and Job.”

They walked silently down the hall toward the room where the Imaran amulet was to be housed. As they moved, Giles was aware of his companion’s eyes on him; finally, he turned to her curiously.

“Is something wrong?”

There was a depth of sadness in her eyes that made him pause. He was so tired of seeing that sadness – not only in her, but in Willow and Xander, as well. They had all managed to survive the Hellmouth, but it had sapped something vital from each of them before it finally closed in on itself. Buffy paused before finally speaking.

“You must have hated Sunnydale so much.” Something about the way she said it told him clearly that she wasn’t speaking of the town.

“I didn’t hate... Sunnydale. I don’t hate Sunnydale.”

Her eyes instantly filled with tears, and she looked away quickly. “I’ve seen the way people treat you here. How much they love you, and respect you. Back home, all you had were a bunch of bratty teenagers who fought everything you did. And then every week or so you’d get conked on the head for your trouble.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, he smiled ruefully at how sadly accurate her description was. “It’s true – it was difficult to make my way there, to truly understand how I fit in that world.” He stopped walking, turning and holding her eyes with his own, desperate to regain the connection they’d lost. “But that was never your fault, Buffy – I never blamed you for it. I chose to go to Sunnydale, and nothing in the world could make me take back those years. I cherish my memories there, Hellmouth or no. Watching you grow up…”

Before the words were even out, he saw the effect that they had on her. Instantly, her face hardened; she looked away, shrugging her thin shoulders as though by doing so she could shake off the turmoil within. “Until I grew up, and you realized – ”

She stopped herself abruptly, but he wouldn’t let her end it there. Grabbing her arm, he turned her around and forced her to look at him. “Realized what, Buffy?”

Silence fell between them, so thick, so impenetrable that it felt as though a third body had entered the room. Their eyes held as the seconds passed – his curious, filled with endless regret; hers posing a challenge he could not accept simply because he had no idea what that challenge was. What did she want from him? He dropped his voice a tone lower, his jaw set.

“Buffy – what do you believe that I realized?”

She swallowed hard, a faint shine covering her eyes as they filled with fresh tears before she pulled away from him quickly.

“We should get to work. Just tell me what I need to do to get the amulet for you, then we should go.”

Once her back was turned, he knew that it was pointless to pursue this any further. The look on her face haunted him, the accusation in her eyes an indictment of his shoddy treatment of her in the past few years. But her thought process itself remained a mystery; as a man, he was well-used to being confounded by the female mind, but Buffy seemed a different species entirely. He was completely, irrevocably lost. With a heavy sigh, he returned to the task at hand. Deciphering his former Slayer’s behavior would have to come later.

* * * * *

The exhibition room was relatively small, and not terribly intimidating. Giles had overseen the security himself, so he knew that he could create a temporal disturbance large enough to offset the wiring for a short period of time, but small enough not to draw undue attention. Long enough, at any rate, for Buffy to slip in and pocket the amulet. And while Eliot was more than competent at his job, Giles had observed his routine closely in order to learn when the man would be away from his post, patrolling other areas of the hall.

The plan was for Buffy to be in the room for no more than the five minutes it would take her to sneak inside and take the gem once Giles had disabled the security system. He’d gone through a local contact to get an exact replica of the amulet; Buffy need only replace the one in the case, and then return to the party. By the time anyone realized that the amulet was a fake, Giles would ideally have bought enough time to find the culprit of the other crimes.

After they’d taken a few moments to go over the plan and study the layout of the room, there was a drawn-out silence before Buffy finally turned to him impatiently.

“Are we done with the stealthathon? Is this all I need to know?”

He nodded, reminded suddenly of just how exhausting fighting with her could be. And it was all the more frustrating because he still wasn’t entirely sure what they were fighting about. Infuriated to find that he was resorting to the same kind of childish behavior as she, he shrugged callously.

“Unless you can think of something else.”

“Nope.” Her lips a straight line, avoiding his eye. “So I should probably get back to Dawn now.”

“Yes. That’s probably best.”

Without another word, she turned on her heel and stalked out, leaving Giles undeniably seething at their inability to communicate. Watching her stalk down the empty corridor, he vowed silently that, one way or another, he was going to get to the bottom of this before their visit was done.

* * * * *

Xander and Willow were both away on business for the better part of the week, and with Dawn and Buffy staying at the Council, there was no opportunity for them all to get together until Friday evening, the night before the fundraiser. At that point, Council board members, trustees, and other officials from around the globe had arrived in anticipation of the event the following evening. Headquarters was filled to the brim, and the Summers sisters had no alternative but to take Giles up on his offer to stay at his flat for the remainder of their stay.

Xander had been living with Giles since they’d all left Sunnydale behind. The Watcher had initially told the younger man that if he needed an increase in salary to support himself, all he need do was ask. But Xander had protested, shifting his gaze uncomfortably, finally settling on the argument that he traveled too much to justify spending so much for an apartment of his own.

It was only then that Giles realized that the boy had never actually lived alone for any extended period of time. And so he had dropped the subject, expecting that Xander would make the move when he felt himself ready. Now, a year and a half after Anya had died, Giles sensed that that time was slowly coming near. While Xander still held rigidly to the seeming vow of celibacy he’d invoked since his former fiance’s death, he was at least venturing out socially again. He seemed less tremulous, more assured – less likely to break under the strain of a past whose pain Giles was only now coming to understand.

Friday evening seemed, to Giles, the perfect opportunity to set some old demons to rest – not just for Buffy, but for all of them. All he wanted was an opportunity to make them forget the traumas of the past few years; bury all the hurt, and take comfort in one another’s presence the way they once had. If he were still the reckless youth he had once been, similar to Willow in so many ways, he supposed he would have cast a spell to have his will done; now, however, he resorted to the next best thing: A party.


	5. Chapter 5

Xander returned home late Friday afternoon to find Giles hard at work in the kitchen. Giles had purposely chosen his flat in Bath because its layout was similar to the one in Sunnydale – he could see anyone who came through the front door from almost anywhere in the apartment. Years of being unexpectedly battered about the head had convinced him this was an attribute he would seek in any living quarters from this point forward. Which meant that he could watch in abject horror as Xander strolled through the front door, tossing his jacket in the general direction of the coat rack, tracking mud in his wake as he made his usual beeline for the refrigerator.  
  
“I’ve been cleaning all day – can’t you pick up after yourself? Have you any idea how many half-filled beer cans I found behind chairs and under tables?”  
  
Xander grinned, undeterred from his original goal. “Good to see you too, G-man.” At the mountain of food that confronted him when he opened the refrigerator door, even he looked slightly overwhelmed. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever said this before, but I’m not sure where to start here.”  
  
Giles gently pushed him out of the way, plucking a single plate from the top shelf and handing it off to the younger man before determinedly closed the refrigerator door.  
  
“You’ll begin – and end – with this. It’s a sampling of everything I’ve prepared; no more until the others arrive.”  
  
“You’re a God, Giles. A stuffy, overly verbose British God.”  
  
He sat down at the counter and dove in. Giles noted – not for the first time – how much weight the boy had lost in the past year. While he’d admittedly become a bit soft in their last few years in Sunnydale, all that and more had vanished upon relocating to London. Now, his clothes hung from his lean frame; Giles was constantly reminded of the boy he’d first met in the high school library. Except, of course, for that damned patch.  
  
“So, who’s gonna be here tonight? Will, Kennedy…” Giles didn’t miss the way Xander looked up, meeting the older man’s eye significantly. “Buffy?”  
  
“Kennedy can’t make it, actually. But Dawn will be here, and Andrew.”  
  
Xander wrinkled his nose distastefully, rolling his good eye.  
  
“Why’s Andrew coming? Just ‘cause he’s from Sunnydale, does that mean he’s gonna be at every soiree I go to for the rest of my natural-born?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Giles said casually. “He seems to fit in all right; he and Dawn have become rather close, I believe.”  
  
He looked up suspiciously. “How close?”  
  
Giles shrugged, noting the reaction with some interest. “I don’t know. They seem quite comfortable with one another.”  
  
“Talk to me, Watcher-Man. There are many levels of comfort – are we talkin’ half-caps over the daily news, or ‘You’re so swell let’s nuzzle inappropriately while Buffy’s got her back turned’? The Dawnster’s not a little kid anymore, Giles.”  
  
“Oh, believe me, I think everyone is painfully aware of that fact.”  
  
Xander looked at him quizzically. “Okay, Cryptic Man, what are you talking about? Because I’m suddenly feeling the need to dig out my double-o-seven super-secret decoder.”  
  
Giles shrugged, enjoying the moment; it was exceedingly rare that he found himself better informed than the others about internal gossip. “I simply mean that Dawn has grown into her looks in a way I don’t believe any of us truly anticipated. And much of Italy’s youth has gotten in line to welcome her to adulthood.”  
  
Before Xander could respond, there was a knock at the door.  
  
“That’s probably Willow – I asked that she drop by with a few things before this evening.”  
  
It was indeed. The redhead staggered in under the weight of a box nearly a third her size.  
  
“Uh – a little help here, please.”  
  
Xander glanced up from his plate. “Sorry, Will – handicapped guy over here. Carrying stuff with one eye can be hazardous to your health. Hard to lift with your knees when you’re trying to work out that whole multi-dimensional thing.”  
  
“Xander!” Willow giggled despite herself, and Giles was warmed by their banter. No matter what else had happened, these two had never lost the bond that had been forged between them in childhood.  
  
Xander grinned, hopping from the stool and taking the box from her easily, then setting it down in the corner. Returning, he leaned down and kissed Willow’s forehead as she hugged him tightly.  
  
“It’s handi-capable, Tool Guy. Yay!” She grinned widely. “It’s always good to see my boys.” She went around the island in the kitchen and gave the Watcher a hearty squeeze ‘round his middle; with his hands caked in oil from the mini-quiches he was making, he could only duck his chin against her head to return the gesture. Willow sniffed his shirt with a contented sigh.  
  
“Yum. Only thing better than Eau de Watcher is Eau de Domesticated Watcher. You smell like cookies.”  
  
“Well, I bloody well should,” he grumbled happily. “I’ve been baking since dawn.”  
  
Xander gestured toward the refrigerator with his thumb, going for another goodie from the plate Giles had prepared for him. “Get a load of the cash crop guilt-fest ’04 spawned.”  
  
“It’s not guilt,” Giles protested feebly. “It’s simply that this is the first opportunity we’ve all had to gather as a group, apart from in a business setting, since Sunnydale. I didn’t think that occasion should pass unmarked.”  
  
“And this is in no way an attempt to make something up to a certain blonde Slayer who’s been noticeably absent-o girl since we all went ex-patrioty?” Willow asked, that familiar furrow in her brow.  
  
Giles had no response, and Xander gave him that strange, worn and wise look that he’d perfected over the past year. “Time, she passes, Giles. Don’t let it get the best of you.” The room fell silent until Xander hopped down from his stool once more, rubbing his hands together.  
  
“All right – give me room to work, kids. I’ve gotta get my specialty brewing for the festivities tonight.”  
  
Giles looked at Willow, one part curiosity, one part dread. “His specialty?”  
  
Willow grinned at her old friend. “Jello shots?”  
  
“What do I always say?” Xander quipped as he put the water on to boil. “It’s not a party unless you’re gettin’ liquored up with lime-flavored horse hooves.”  
  
“But Dawn – ”  
  
“Won’t die from a little jello. Besides, she’s legal in twenty-two days; I don’t think the British vodka police are gonna come knocking on our doors for one tiny – ” Xander stopped abruptly when he sensed Giles and Willow studying him intently. “What?”  
  
“Twenty-two days?” Willow turned her gaze to Giles, who pretended to consider the slip with some gravity.  
  
“It seems as though someone’s been giving this some thought.”  
  
“Maybe even counting down the days,” Willow continued.  
  
“Or perhaps the hours,” Giles countered.  
  
Xander groaned, turning his back on both of them. “Great. The two former uber-Wiccans from hell have turned on me. What shot do I have?”  
  
Giles waited until Xander had turned back around and was focused on his culinary tasks before responding. “Perhaps a better one than you’d think.”  
  
Xander smiled quietly, looking back over his shoulder once more. “The Summers sisters are movin’ in, Giles. I say we do our best to make ‘em feel at home.”  
  
* * * * *  
  
When Buffy, Dawn, and Andrew arrived, there was a brief moment of awkwardness in which Buffy stood silently by, watching everyone happily greet one another. Giles studied her, realizing yet again that she still had not gotten over her banishment from the group before the Hellmouth closed. In theory, she should have understood that it was a difficult decision made in difficult circumstances, and had nothing whatever to do with personal conflicts. But Giles knew the reality: these were not hardened warriors, despite all they had seen. These were young adults who had continually turned to one another for the love and support they needed to fight for their lives and the lives of those around them. And Buffy, who had fought harder than anyone to that end, had been turned out, cast aside, when her friends decided she was not making decisions as they would have liked.  
  
The fact that Giles had been a large part of that made him cringe, though he well understood his own reasoning in the matter. But he refused to dwell on the whole tangled mess just then. Tonight was about healing those wounds, not re-opening them.  
  
Andrew, oddly enough, was the one to step forward and completely obliterate any tension in the room by adopting the role of master of ceremonies. He ushered Buffy and Dawn into Giles’ flat as though it were his own, immediately shepherding them to the lavishly set dining area.  
  
“Ooh, nice spread, Mr. Giles.” He turned to Dawn. “Mr. Giles makes really good crepes.”  
  
Giles saw a quick flash of unmitigated joy cross Buffy’s face when she spotted the touch he’d added especially for her.  
  
“Cookies!”  
  
He nodded, looking away shyly as she studied them more closely.  
  
“And they’re in the shape of little tiny swords.” She stared at him delightedly, the reserved smile that she usually wore now replaced with the long-lost grin of old. “Giles, you made me sword cookies.”  
  
Trying to hide the blush rapidly climbing his cheeks, he nodded once more as he pointed out some of the other cookies. “I’m afraid I got a bit carried away – there are other – er, shapes, as well.”  
  
Immediately, all attention was on Giles’ specialty cookies. Andrew began sorting through them, but Giles eyes were only on Buffy, as she carefully took one of each of the shapes and set them aside as though they were precious gems.  
  
“Cool – crossbow,” Andrew whispered reverently.  
  
Willow held one up, looking slightly disconcerted. “Um – Giles, what’s this one supposed to be?”  
  
At the plainly phallic shape, his blush grew. “It’s an arrow, Willow. For the crossbow.”  
  
She looked at him doubtfully. “Oh. An arrow. Bet that’s what you tell all the girls.”  
  
Dawn had been markedly quiet since entering the flat, but now she held up a cookie that was noticeably unreplicated in the batch. “Hey – how come there’s only one heart cookie?”  
  
Xander took it gently from Dawn’s fingers, with an apologetic smile as he placed it in the small pile Buffy had assembled.  
  
“I think that belongs to you.”  
  
Buffy looked up, and the frivolous banter of the others fell away as she silently mouthed “Thank you” to her former Watcher. A small smile touched his lips, and he nodded gently, mouthing “You’re welcome” in turn.  
  
The real fun didn’t begin until Xander produced his much-heralded jello shots, with a flourish. They were relocating from the dining area into the sitting room, and Xander carefully selected one of the few Dixie cups with red jello inside and handed it to Dawn.  
  
“There ya go, Dawnster. Virgin shots for the not-quite-eighteen-year-old.”  
  
Dawn rolled her eyes. “Please. I’ve had alcohol before, you know.”  
  
“Champagne at my almost-wedding isn’t quite the same as one part berry goodness and one part pure soul-numbing vodka.”  
  
Giles looked up in surprise, noting the fleeting pain that crossed Xander’s face before he’d quite gotten the words out. It was the first time the older man could remember him bringing up the wedding ceremony since Anya’s death. Dawn smiled, though, looking at him in a way that suggested a level of compassion far beyond her years.  
  
“That’s okay.” She linked an arm through Xander’s, walking with him into the sitting room where the others had already settled. “I’ll just wait ‘til you have a couple, and then steal yours.”  
  
Xander grinned, gesturing her into an overstuffed armchair that Giles well knew was the boy’s favorite.  
  
“That was the plan.”  
  
* * * * *  
  
The evening rapidly devolved from there. While the others were catching up, Giles had little opportunity to actually speak with Buffy, but it was enough to observe her seeming to truly enjoy herself with the others. The music and laughter endured for long hours, but by two a.m., the fun had begun to fade. Giles, after a full day in the kitchen and three of Xander’s sickly sweet Jello creations, was nearly asleep in his chair. The only thing that kept him from feeling completely ancient was the fact that he was not the first to fall: Andrew was curled up snoring softly in an armchair in the corner, oblivious to the world. Both Buffy and Willow could barely keep their eyes open, nestled comfortably on the sofa getting reacquainted.  
  
The only people who remained stubbornly alert were Xander and Dawn. After the rest of the group had declined their invitation for a game of cards, the duo had gone ahead and begun a round of Hearts, aptly enough. Giles noted, with a degree of pleasure that startled him, the shy smiles and charged glances that passed between the two old friends. He firmly believed that it was time that Xander moved on – he’d earned that. And with the endless supply of cads who would doubtless be in line to get their hands on Dawn, Giles would be relieved to have someone as trustworthy as Xander to keep them at bay.  
  
The Watcher’s eyes had closed for nearly the dozenth time in the past half hour, and he was thinking somewhere in the haze of half-sleep that he should really go up to bed, when the room abruptly changed.  
  
A sudden chill swept through him from the inside-out. Now wide awake, Giles nevertheless kept his eyes closed, trying to hone in on whatever energy was at work. There was a persistent push, almost like someone trying to physically force a door open in his mind. He concentrated on the feeling, trying to get a read on the source of the assault.  
  
At the recognition that he was now fully conscious, the invading presence receded. Giles opened his eyes slowly, taking stock with growing un-ease of the others in the room.  
  
Buffy and Willow remained on the sofa, their heads pillowed in their arms as they continued to chat through their exhaustion. Andrew was still asleep. Xander glanced up when Giles opened his eyes, with a slight smile.  
  
“Looks like the party’s pooped, Giles.”  
  
Giles nodded, straightening in his chair. Buffy looked at him curiously, and he was relieved once more to realize that the preternatural bond between Watcher and Slayer had not been severed completely. Not yet, at any rate.  
  
“What’s up, Giles? Did somebody have too many Berry Berry Blazers?”  
  
He shook his head, infusing his tone with a lightness he most definitely did not feel. “I’m afraid I have a good few years on all of you – my days of carousing ‘til dawn are regretfully long past.”  
  
Willow offered a small conciliatory smile. “That’s okay, Giles – I’m pretty darn sleepy myself. Plus between the Watcher cookies and the Jello boozin’, my tummy’s gone rumbly and my head’s kinda blitzed.”  
  
Giles noted suddenly how pale the redhead had become in the past half-hour, and his anxiety increased tenfold.  
  
“Are you feeling all right?”  
  
She nodded. “Oh sure – nothin’ half a dozen aspirin and a good night’s sleep won’t zap.”  
  
Unsure of how to proceed, he managed a vague nod. Buffy seemed to sense his uncertainty; she stood with a wide yawn, stretching lazily.  
  
“Okay, I’m not too proud to admit it: I’m bushed.”  
  
Xander looked at her with a fond smile. “Slayer strength my eye – er, my good one, that is. I bet if I got a solid eight hours of quality z’s every night like the Buffster here, I could save the world, too.”  
  
“You did save the world,” Dawn pointed out with a quiet smile.  
  
He blushed slightly. “Well – yeah, but just that once.”  
  
“Hey, I did double-duty all through high school, pulling all-nighters for vampage and then dodging the Snyde-man by day. I think I’ve earned some quality Rem-time now. Besides,” she added as she gathered her plate and began to clean up, “I’ve gotta be daisy-fresh for the whole B&E thing tomorrow.”  
  
Four heads came up as one to fix on the Slayer, with only Andrew remaining inert. Giles held his breath, suppressing a moan at her slip.  
  
“B&E, Buff?” Xander prompted curiously.  
  
“Yes – er,” Giles began, before Buffy cut him off quickly.  
  
“Breakfast enchilada. I wanna be well-rested, for the…breakfast enchilada Giles is making us tomorrow morning.”  
  
Xander perked up immediately. “Nice! Nothin’ better than a hearty Watcher breakfast to get the day off right.”  
  
Willow groaned. “No more enchilada talk, please. Have a little heart, for my tummy’s sake?”  
  
“Sorry,” Buffy said brightly, still flushed at the near-miss. “Okay, I’m going up. Giles, you wanna show me the room?”  
  
“It’s just up the stairs,” he said absently, before catching her eye.  
  
“Giles, you wanna _show_ me the room?” she repeated, more forcefully this time.  
  
He nodded vigorously. “Yes – yes, of course. It’s this way.”  
  
As they headed up the stairs, Giles took one last glance around the room. Willow was curled up tightly on the couch, paler even than she’d been a moment before. Andrew slept on, while Xander and Dawn continued their card game, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the world.  
  
Only three people had known about that saber, he reminded himself needlessly. Three people. He glanced once more at Willow, his dread growing as he recalled what had been necessary to bring her back before. If she was playing with that darkness again… He didn’t know that he’d survive her power a second time.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Once they’d reached the spare bedroom, Buffy silently searched Giles’ face for an answer before she finally prompted him.  
  
“Giles – spill. You look like you’ve seen a creepy crawlie.”  
  
“What’s the matter with you – you nearly told them what we’re planning!” The words came out more roughly than he’d intended, laden with the sudden fear for what he believed they could have in store.  
  
Hurt flashed in her eyes, and Buffy recoiled before her face hardened into the mask to which he’d become so accustomed. Before he could apologize, however, her next words struck, with as much force and fury as any physical blow he’d been dealt.  
  
“Relax, Daddy Dearest – I caught it.”  
  
In an instant, their entire tangled history went through his mind: Continually being cast in the role of her parent, always struggling with the guilt of knowing that he could never be that for her – even if that was what she wanted. The endless mockery, the slights at his expense… like a series of film clips on high-speed, incident after incident played out in his head. He took a step toward her, holding her gaze dangerously.  
  
“I am not your father.”  
  
She didn’t look away, her chin up defiantly. When she swallowed, he watched the movement in her slender, pale neck in fascination; was mesmerized when her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and he felt that familiar surge of desire he’d been fighting for so long.  
  
“I know that.”  
  
“Do you?”  
  
A flash of anger crossed her face, her jaw tightening, and she looked as if she might actually turn and walk away. Giles took a step closer, taking her elbows firmly in his hands to pull her body firmly against his own.  
  
“Why do you continually run from me? What do you want to say, that you’re not saying?”  
  
He could feel her heat coming through him, knew that his body was reacting to that heat; imagined that she could feel the reaction… But he would be damned if he’d let this opportunity pass.  
  
“Forget it, Giles. We’ve got a job to do – that’s why I’m here, right? So let’s just call it a draw and get some sleep.”  
  
“I’m not particularly tired at the moment.” He tightened his hold on her, searching her face for some clue of what was going through her mind. “When did you become someone who ran from an argument? And from me, of all people.”  
  
He was amazed to see her eyes fill with tears yet again. Shaking her head roughly, she pushed him backward, nearly knocking him to the floor in her desperation to get away.  
  
“I’m not doing this, dammit! I know why I’m here – you’ve made it clear that there’s a job that only I can do, and I’ll do what you ask… I always will, it doesn’t matter what the price is. And then your precious slayer wannabe’s can pick up where I left off, and you won’t have to be bothered with me anymore!”  
  
The tears spilled freely down her cheeks now, her voice a hoarse shout. Giles stood there, mute, shaken to the core by her words.  
  
“Buffy – I will always…” he tried to find the right word, the one she was looking for. “… _need_ you… Love you. There is no one that could replace you in my heart.”  
  
She stared at him defiantly, clearly not believing. “Giles, nothing’s been the same since you found the others… Since you started your little Slayer cheering squad, all you’ve done is treat me like – like an example, of what not to do when you’re Chosen. As proof that you can be the kind of Watcher you always used to tell me you hated.”  
  
Stunned by her words, he tried to find a way to explain his actions over the past three years. But as he struggled with where to start, he found that every explanation began and ended with how terribly muddled he’d gotten things in his effort to deny his true feelings.  
  
And so he just stood there, silent and miserable, until Buffy pushed him back once more, toward the door. She turned her back on him, roughly brushing away her tears.  
  
“Please go, Giles. I just want to go to sleep.”  
  
He nodded, still mute, and left the room. It was only after she’d closed the door that he realized he hadn’t had an opportunity to warn her of the feeling he’d gotten earlier, downstairs. Or brief her on what he was afraid might be happening with Willow. But when he returned to the door to knock, he could hear Buffy’s muffled sobs; realizing that he was the cause of her pain tore through him, but he still couldn’t bring himself to confess his reasons for withdrawing so completely from her life. Pulling back his hand before he’d quite made contact with the door, he stood for a moment more of indecision before he turned silently and left.   
  



	6. Chapter 6

The next day was torture. The flat was full, as Willow and Andrew had decided to simply spend the night rather than returning to their respective homes. After Xander’s initial inquiry about the whereabouts of his breakfast enchilada was met with stony silence, he dropped the subject. Giles was torn between watching Willow, who had recovered handily from her seeming illness the previous evening, and Buffy, who barely spoke to him – despite the fact that they were supposed to be continuing with the charade that all was well between them.  
  
The group dispersed over the course of the day, but returned that evening to prepare for the party. Giles managed to pull Buffy aside to tell her briefly of his concern for Willow, cornering her in the kitchen while the others were getting ready. He followed that with a reminder of the training on mental guarding he had once provided as her Watcher.  
  
“Just remember to keep that gate within your mind up at all times,” he advised quietly.  
  
Buffy nodded, looking decidedly unnerved. “Giles, why the hell didn’t you tell me this before? I spent all of last night with Willow – if she’s going all veiny again – ” The emotion on her face said more than words ever could about her feelings on having to fight her best friend once again. He reached out to touch Buffy’s shoulder reassuringly and she flinched, backing away. Removing his hand, Giles also took a step back, trying not to let the pain of her reaction register on his face.  
  
“We don’t know anything yet, Buffy. This could be a – a spell that someone else has cast on Willow; it could be any number of things. We just need to get the amulet tonight. Then we can determine the next course of action.”  
  
He paused, reluctant to push further. As the last opportunity he may have to speak to Buffy alone before the party, however, he realized that he had to take advantage of their solitude. He needed to make sure that she understood the importance of their mission.  
  
“Buffy, if a vampire was able to get his hands on the saber, the texts, _and_ the amulet, he would be indestructible. I know that being cast in the role of my date to this affair is not something you would have taken on willingly, but – ”  
  
Buffy shrugged coldly, holding his gaze. “Don’t worry, Giles. I’m a pro; I’ll do my job. I’ll play the dutiful date, and no one in the Council will have a clue we’re not everything a Watcher and his former Slayer should be.”  
  
He nodded, stunned by the bitterness in her voice. Buffy looked silently over her shoulder, toward the other room.  
  
“Is that it? Because I really need to finish getting ready.”  
  
“Y – yes, of course. The driver will be ‘round at half past seven to pick us up.”  
  
“I’ll be ready.”  
  
He watched her disappear around the corner, wondering miserably just how he’d managed to tangle things between them so completely. Whatever it might mean to his own pride, somehow he had to find a way to explain himself to her. Tonight, he told himself firmly. Once the amulet was in their possession, regardless of what it might do to her opinion of him, Giles knew he had to tell her that he was in love with her. She couldn’t go on thinking that he simply didn’t care.  
  
Relieved to have at last made a decision, Giles returned to his room, which had been transformed into the men’s changing room. While Andrew and Xander vacillated between cheerful banter, barely subverted hostility, and the occasional physical assault, Giles silently prepared for the evening.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Once the drivers arrived, the group reconvened in the foyer before dispersing and going to their respective vehicles. Giles and Buffy were to be driven in alone, while the remaining five would travel together. Amidst excited squeals (emanating primarily from Andrew) over outfits, Giles found he had eyes for no one but Buffy.  
  
An extremely authentic-looking black flapper dress, complete with fringe and sequin trim, hung perfectly on her slight frame. She carried a small, beaded bag, her short hair done in the classic flapper style, complemented with a headband and feather. Dawn wore a slightly flashier version of the same type of outfit, though her dress was blood-red and garters were clearly visible on her long legs. Giles didn’t miss Xander’s audible gulp at sight of the girl.  
  
“Wow,” Andrew, who had opted for a Holmesian look, complete with classic deerstalker hat, trench coat, and pipe, murmured approvingly. “You ladies look fabulous.” He caught Dawn’s eye. “Love the garters. Meow.”  
  
She grinned, and Xander finally found his voice. “Uh – Yeah. If I were verbal, I’d think of something incredibly clever right now. But… Well, gotta agree with Andrew on this one. Wow.”  
  
Dawn met his eye, a slow blush creeping up her powdered cheeks. “Oh – it was just something I found, you know – no big.”  
  
Buffy groaned. “Yeah, after ten dress shops and sixteen hours on ebay.”  
  
“Oh, right – and I was the only one who agonized about this shindig.” Dawn countered before turning her attention back to Xander. “Anyway… You look really nice, too.”  
  
Xander had chosen a gray zoot-suit that, Giles freely admitted, hung well on the boy. Andrew cleared his throat.  
  
“Yeah, except zoot suits were forties, not twenties. You’re totally off the mark, Xander.”  
  
Xander groaned. “Will you shut up about that already. I told you – I don’t care. Everything else was squeezing me in places I don’t need to be squeezed; I mean, god, look at Giles. He’s gonna need life support by the end of the night.”  
  
Willow came down then, with a soft smile as she met the Watcher’s eye.  
  
“Yeah – just look at him. Holy moley, Giles, who knew you cleaned up so good.”  
  
Giles was surprised to feel Buffy’s arm link possessively in his at the words. “Easy, Will,” she quipped. “He’s my date. You get your own.”  
  
“She’s got one.”  
  
Kennedy appeared around the corner then, joining Willow on the stairs. She was dressed as a twenties gangster, complete with fedora and man’s suit. Her hair had been pulled into a ponytail and tucked under the hat, but the curves of her feminine form left no doubt that it was a woman sporting the costume.  
  
Willow had obviously done her homework, not falling to the common conception that flapper-wear was the norm for the twenties, when in fact it had been fashionable for only a couple of years. Instead, she wore a pale, low-waisted dress whose hemline ended at mid-calf, the straight lines clearly made for the redhead’s trim figure. A wide-brimmed hat topped off the affair, her face powdered and red hair bobbed appropriately.  
  
Giles had also studied up, and was inclined to agree with Xander in the belief that the outfit would kill him before the night was out. He’d selected a suit that would have once been worn by a man deeply aligned with the jazz lifestyle: trousers whose legs were stove-pipe thin, the over-jacket tight around the waist, with long back vents that moved subtly with his every step. At the look on Buffy’s face, her silent appraisal of his form, Giles decided that the rewards outweighed any discomfort he might suffer over the course of the evening. She smiled hesitantly when their eyes locked, her arm still linked in his.  
  
“Shall we?”  
  
The group exited Giles’ flat in a flurry of excited laughter and conversation, the spell of playing dress-up having been effectively cast. At sight of the antique Roadsters awaiting them, there were more exclamations of delight, and Giles felt his anxiety slowly recede.  
  
At the end of the night, when the spell had been broken and the blood of the innocent spilled, Giles would cling to those few moments of peace. When nothing was left but chaos and his Slayer could no longer hear his words, that moment of reprieve with her warm and whole at his side was the one thing that would keep the Watcher going through cold nights of fear and desolation.  
  



	7. Chapter 7

Just as Buffy had promised, she was the perfect date over the course of the evening. To the casual observer, she and Giles appeared a well-matched pair…and Giles knew that there were more than a few casual – and not-so-casual – observers. From the time he had assumed leadership of the Council, thanks ironically enough to a directive Quentin Travers had issued just prior to his death, those in the know had been waiting for the unconventional Watcher to make a mistake. This evening was an opportunity for him to prove that that would not happen.  
  
Giles was transfixed as he watched his companion charm guest after guest, captivated by the woman Buffy had become. The way that she shone, her vitality, was something that had nothing whatever to do with youth, and everything to do with the force within her. With quiet grace, she worked the room as Giles did the same, meeting and greeting before she returned to his side for periodic - albeit decidedly chilly - check-ins.  
  
The Council had spared no expense for the event that evening. Though the original members had been killed in the explosion a year and a half before, many of those members had left significant portions of their estates for the continuance of the Council’s work. The new headquarters had been acquired with that legacy, and many of the members now on the Council were direct descendants of original Watchers. Sadly, they were still sorely lacking in the resources that had been destroyed in the explosion. For the work to continue, Giles well knew the kind of public support that would be required. His goal for the evening – besides ensuring that the amulet was safely out of harm’s way – was to charm as many guests as possible out of as much money as decency allowed.  
  
To this end, the Watcher dedicated himself fully. While he hadn’t believed in the Council before, now that it was essentially his to shape as he would, he found that it had become something of a passion for him. With so many Slayers to train now, it seemed at last that victory was in their grasp; he could effectively eradicate, or at least keep at bay, the evil forces of the world. With an army of Slayers that were trained well enough, there was no end to the good that could be done. But he would be damned if he would see those Slayers, these young women whom he’d come to know and respect so well, cast to the wolves because he hadn’t the resources to arm them with the necessary knowledge and training.  
  
A full jazz band had been hired for the fundraising event, with the members dressed in white suits reminiscent of Gatsby in his finest. They played through the night, while Buffy danced with countless lecherous old men. Giles, in turn, was groped more than once by wealthy seniors as he tried fruitlessly to steer them through Charleston after Charleston. It was nearly ten o’clock, the time Buffy and Giles had appointed to replace the amulet, before they finally had an opportunity to share a dance.  
  
As the band quieted for a rare slow number, Giles took Buffy in his arms and steered her across the dance floor easily. As her lithe body responded readily to his guiding hand, they were soon the center of attention. While he rarely had the opportunity, Giles enjoyed dancing immensely – particularly with a good partner. Buffy, predictably enough given her athleticism, was flawless, matching his steps, spinning under his hand, her lines well-formed, her body the picture of grace and elegance.  
  
“You’re a wonderful dancer,” he murmured, bending down slightly to speak in her ear. A flash of annoyance touched her face, reminding him suddenly that they were still fighting.  
  
“Thanks,” she said dismissively, her tone all business. “Are you ready? Do you think you can slip out without being noticed?”  
  
He nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed with some difficulty.  
  
“We’ll need to have some story for why we’ve both disappeared, should anyone ask.”  
  
She studied him for a moment before nodding. “I figured.”  
  
Suddenly, she moved subtly closer to him, her body pressed torturously against his own.  
  
“Buffy, what are you doing?”  
  
Her voice lowered silkily. “Putting on a little show. I’ll go out in five minutes – alone. You follow two minutes later. No one will ask; they’ll just assume it’s some kind of Watcher-Slayer rendezvous.”  
  
“That’s not quite what I – ”  
  
She rolled her eyes, undulating her hips tauntingly against him. “Come on, Giles – don’t tell me there haven’t been whispers ever since we started fighting. Lover’s spat; it’s what they all think. And now the lovers have made up…”  
  
He was silent for a moment, his blood heating as she continued her movements. If this was the way it had to be done, though… Abruptly, he lay his hand against the flat of her back, pressing her more firmly into him.  
  
“Well, if you want to put on a show…”  
  
He bent his head until his lips brushed her ear as he whispered, “You remember everything I told you about the security in the room?”  
  
Her breath hitched before she nodded, and he felt a surge of electricity run through him at her response. Turning her head, he found himself eye to eye with her, their lips millimetres apart. Giles was aware of others watching the display between them. An outright show would be out of character, attracting more attention than they wanted; instead, there was the subtle touch, the way her hand reached up to lazily caress his neck, his fingertip running down her cheek.  
  
Longing to remedy the rift between them, Giles infused his touches with as much meaning and depth as possible. He wanted desperately to make her understand that she wasn’t merely a tool that he pulled out whenever the fate of the world was at stake, only to discard when her services were no longer required.  
  
At one point, their eyes met during the dance. He held the gaze, the air charged between them. Her eyes softened, something naked and profoundly unhappy touching her lovely irises. He lay a hand against her cheek, holding her against him, and a plainly tortured confusion flickered across her face. Abruptly, he saw that protective mask that she’d assumed in their interactions over the past two years fall once more. If he hadn’t been holding her in place, he was sure she would have run from him then and there.  
  
“It’s time, Giles,” she whispered, a touch of panic in her voice. Over what had just transpired between them, he was sure – he knew her well enough to understand that she would have virtually no qualms about the job she was about to take on. Silent declarations of love from her former Watcher, however… Well, that was most likely enough to send her screaming from the room.  
  
He nodded, reluctantly releasing her as the music faded.  
  
“After this is done, I need to talk to you. Will you… Can we do that?”  
  
She nodded, her face utterly unreadable. “More talk? Yippee.” At the reproach in his eyes, she softened slightly. “Yeah, Giles. We can. But now – gotta go.”  
  
They parted with one last, lingering glance that Giles was sure Buffy had added for the benefit of the crowd around them. For that split second as their eyes met across the room, though, she looked at him in a way that he’d never seen before. There was a hunger, a depth of emotion, that made his senses reel. But she was a Slayer, he told himself stubbornly – this was part of the job. And she was very, very good at her job.  
  
Giles waited the agreed-upon two minutes after Buffy had left the ballroom before following her out. The long, vast corridor was deserted; the amulet would be housed in a room at the other end of that corridor. A few doors down from that room was a utility closet that Giles had already ensured was unlocked. He needed silence in order to concentrate fully on creating the temporal rift in the security system; to this end, he secluded himself in the closet in order to fully immerse himself in the magicks.  
  
Sitting cross-legged on the floor in the cramped space, Giles pushed his mind outward. Feeling his breath, slowing his heart, his physical surroundings began to fade. He was a pinpoint of light, the physical realm nothing but a sea of silent, blank space. Gradually, as his concentration intensified, that blank space began to take form.

No longer a physical rendering, it became a series of waves: colors that undulated through his mind, complimented by a series of distinct sounds that he distilled carefully until he found what he was looking for. A single, pink-yellow point of light that he felt as a push of heat running through him, the accompanying sound a soft, sensual hum. Buffy. The feel of her, the intensity that was the fact of her inside him, shook him – this was not something he did often. It was far too dangerous to be linked in this way, but he needed to know where she was before he began disarming the security system.  
  
He moved on from her presence, the energy beginning to charge him now, a satin burn glowing just beneath his skin – like a thousand fireflies had made his body their home. The electrical field within the building presented itself as a thick, blue line; he pushed that line gently with his mind, watching as it bent to his will. Careful not to snap the system, he maintained a persistent pressure, aware of the movement of the pink-yellow light beneath the blue line.  
  
Suddenly, as though a rope had been cast around him to wrench him back to the surface, Giles felt himself hurtling back to the physical realm. There was the sharp report of what sounded like a pistol, and a haze of red light burst through his consciousness, scorching him. He scrambled back to the spiritual plane, just barely managing to hold onto the blue line before he sensed that his efforts were fruitless. Something had happened.  
  
Taking no time to prepare himself, Giles snapped the blue line in two – the security system would have to be repaired later, but he couldn’t risk it going off if Buffy was still in the room with the amulet. Plummeting at breakneck speed back into his body, he felt a breathless surge of terror before he was irrevocably grounded once more. In the room. In the dark. Without her.  
  
Wasting no time on recovery, Giles raced out of the utility closet and toward the room where the gem was housed. Momentarily blinded by the bright lights of the corridor, it took him a few seconds to realize what he was seeing directly outside the still-closed door where Buffy should be.  
  
An inert form lay in a pool of blood, the body splayed unnaturally, arms outstretched and the head at an awkward angle. Giles had a brief moment of relief when he realized that it wasn’t Buffy; though the victim lay on his stomach, it was clear from the size that it was a man. At sight of the orange hair matted with blood, however, a wash of horror nearly buckled him under - it was Eliot Sharpe, the security guard he had introduced Buffy to earlier in the week. Rushing to the man, he noted in the back of his mind that a pistol lay a few inches away, but made a conscious effort not to disturb the scene of the brutal crime.  
  
Kneeling beside the body, he carefully rolled the man over, nausea gripping him at the blood and viscera that abounded. There was a raw, gaping wound at the side of his head – incredibly, though, the fingers of his left hand twitched. Before the Watcher had a chance to check the carotid artery for a pulse, a low moan came from the man. Giles felt a surge of hope before it was replaced with revulsion when the familiar eyes opened to reveal the milky-grey irises characteristic of the re-animated dead.  
  
As though watching a film unfold, Giles saw the cold, dead hand reach for him, casting an iron grip 'round his throat, and he fought desperately to loose the fingers. Gasping for air, his struggle became less and less coordinated as his brain began to shut down. Blindly striking out in whatever way he could, Giles grabbed the gun that had been laying close by, using the butt to strike frantically at the zombie. In that exact moment, as Giles – covered in the blood and viscera of the chief security officer – brought the gun down soundly on the creature’s head, the rest of the security force rounded the corner.  
  
Instantly, the grip was loosened on his throat. Gasping for air, Giles struggled to stand but was immediately stopped by a shout from the second-in-command, after Eliot.  
  
“Don’t fucking move.”  
  
The blind fury and pure terror on the man’s face was plain. Giles realized in an instant what they believed they had seen: him, ruthlessly beating a dying man, and – as the zombie seemed suddenly, hopelessly immovable – he couldn’t imagine how he could possibly disprove that theory. At sight of the multitude of firearms leveled at him, Giles froze. It was against everything he associated with the gentility of Britain to allow guns into this place, but the others in the Council had been insistent that the presence of the amulet merited such drastic measures.  
  
“Step away from him!” the leading officer shouted breathlessly.  
  
“He’s dead – I… I was trying to help him.”  
  
“By beating him over the head,” one of the younger officers shouted, his voice strangled with the fury of what they believed they had witnessed. Guests from the fundraiser had heard disturbances in the corridor, and were slowly filing out to find out what was happening. Giles groaned inwardly at the exclamations when they took in the scene before them. Chaos broke out: the leading officer continued to train his gun on Giles as a couple of others came forward to try and help the wounded man. And then, abruptly, another of the higher-ups seemed to realize what they were guarding; he took a step forward, gesturing Giles away from the door he had been inadvertently blocking.  
  
“Has anyone checked the amulet?” the second-in-command shouted to the others. At the unanimous “no” that sounded, the man cursed roundly, pushing past Giles to the door. Panicked, Giles tried to find a way to warn Buffy. Before he could do so, the officer kicked the door open, and there was a long silence before a steady stream of profanity. Giles peered inside the room, wincing as a cop roughly wrenched his arms behind his back to secure his hands.  
  
The amulet was gone, and Buffy was nowhere to be seen.  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

When the realization was made that the amulet had vanished, the corridor became a frenzy of confused activity. Giles took advantage of the chaos and forced himself inward once more, trying to locate Buffy. It took him only a moment of intense concentration to home in on her presence, the effort made that much easier by the fact that she was close by. Standing in the doorway, he glanced up in the room where the amulet had been to find the Slayer wedged precariously in a corner of the ceiling. She had been crying, Giles noted in confusion, the tears still fresh on her cheeks. At sight of the Watcher covered in blood, she blanched, then mouthed quietly,

“I got it.”

He nodded, trying to comprehend why she wouldn’t have replaced the gem with the fake as they had discussed. Down the corridor, there was a shout and a fresh struggle as Willow broke free of the crowd and tried to reach Giles. Her eyes were wide with apparent fear, and he felt a mix of terror and relief. Even if she'd turned once more to the dark side, he couldn’t believe she was a good enough actress to fake this kind of reaction.

“Willow,” he called down the hall, trying to soothe her. “It’s all right. Get Xander and the others, and everything will be fine.”

He’d barely gotten the words out when he caught Buffy’s figure in his periphery and realized that she was slipping. There was nothing to be done but cause some kind of diversion to get security out of the room. Taking a breath, he pivoted rapidly on his left foot, catching the officer behind him off guard. Before he’d even completed the move, however, Buffy seemed to anticipate it.

“Giles, no!” Her shout drew their attention instantly. She leapt from her spot, already in motion before her feet hit the floor. Grabbing Giles’ hand in her own, the two fought through the mass of security suddenly upon them in an effort to reach the back exit. In the fray, Giles had an instant’s clarity to recognize the sight of an officer's gun as it was leveled. An instant to decide which way to move, how best to protect her, but that instant wasn’t enough. The shot sounded and he heard Buffy’s cry of pain, felt her fall at his side, before he could react.

Suddenly, everything stopped. The noise, the chaos, the throng of people in the corridor vanished, leaving only Buffy and Giles...

...and Willow, the roots of her hair already darkening, tears of desperation in her eyes.

“Run, Giles – take her and run! I shifted everyone to another plane, but I can’t hold them much longer.”

He stared at the girl uncomprehendingly, trying to find the treachery in what she was doing. Tears ran unbidden down her face, and Giles took no more time to think. In an instant, he swept Buffy into his arms and raced down the empty corridor. When they reached the exit, he pushed it open and stumbled into the cold darkness of a London alleyway out behind the building.

As he ran blindly from the scene, a sickeningly familiar voice stopped his flight before it had even begun.

“You always did know how to throw a party.”

The oiled sensuality of the familiar tone left him cold. With Buffy bleeding in his arms, he turned. Xander stood before him, a decidedly un-Xanderlike expression on the boy’s face.

“Leaving so soon, Ripper? The party’s just begun.”

“Ethan,” Giles ground out.

The man casually flipped up Xander’s eye patch; the good eye remained the soft, spaniel-brown that Giles knew so well. The injured eye, however, gleamed a flinty blue that Giles remembered too well from days past.

“In the flesh. Not my flesh, you understand… But this will have to do.” A frighteningly alien smile touched Xander/Ethan’s lips, and he took a step forward. “Now, I believe you have something I want. I was fooled by that dreadful replica for a solid sixty seconds, but by that time your Slayer was scaling the walls and I really didn’t have the time to chase her for the genuine article.”

Giles stepped back, looking around desperately. “Ethan,” he spat the name at him. “I don’t have time for this – get the hell out of my way. She’s – ”

“Dying,” the man cooed. “Yes, yes she is. But really, apart from losing such a lovely young specimen, what’s the harm? Hundreds of Slayers to call your own now, eh, Ripper? What’s one less in the grand scheme?”

His old friend had no weapon, Giles realized with a start. He moved to push past and be on their way when Ethan brandished a gun that seemed to appear from thin air. 

“It’s a bit crass, isn’t it?” Giles nodded toward the firearm, fighting to keep his tone even as he ran through a mental list of his most likely avenues of escape.

Ethan/Xander shrugged callously. “A bit. Lacks finesse, certainly.” He weighed the iron in his hand thoughtfully. “But still – remarkably effective.”

Abruptly, a change went through the man before him. Giles saw it first in a faint tremor in the hand; then, the blue in Xander’s injured eye – the patch still flipped up – flickered and vanished for a moment, the true, scarred orbit staring sightlessly out. But Giles couldn’t wait around to try and help the boy back into his body – seizing the moment, he shoved Xander roughly out of the way, shifted Buffy in his arms, and disappeared down the alley.

* * * * *

Within moments, they had gone underground. Recalling his less-than-upstanding youth, Giles took them to a mystically cloaked alleyway leading directly to the sewer systems of London. Though the hospital may have seemed the logical choice, he had another destination in mind. He had no confidence whatever in traditional medicine when it came to a wound of this magnitude – particularly when dealing with a Slayer. Instead, he would do whatever needed to be done to ensure Buffy get the help that would save her life. There was no other conceivable option.

Struggling in total darkness through filthy water up to his knees, clutching Buffy tightly to him, Giles fought rising panic. He was used to things not going precisely his way, but whenever that had happened in the recent past, Buffy had been there. They had worked through whatever apocalypse happened upon them as a team. He couldn’t remember a time that he didn’t have Willow, or Xander, or… someone, with whom to work in the direst of circumstances. Now, however, it was up to him. Less any books, weapons, or allies save a Slayer looking decidedly worse for the wear.

Finally, he found a spot in the sewer system beneath a grate to the street above. The streetlight shone through, giving him the luxury of at least a small amount of light. He’d stopped periodically along the way, just to make sure that Buffy was still breathing… Now, however, he found a patch of dry space up against one wall and set her down to examine her wound more thoroughly before continuing on.

He’d wrapped her in his jacket but her skin was still cold to his touch, her small frame racked with spasms from the chilled night and the shock the bullet had caused her system. The shot had penetrated her stomach, at her left side. He’d stemmed the bleeding only slightly by applying pressure with the shawl she’d been wearing, but she’d still lost a great deal of blood. Suddenly, in the dim light of the tunnel, her eyes opened wide, a gasp of pain echoing through the closed space.

“Giles?”

He nodded, fighting back tears as he took her hand in his own. “I’m here, Buffy.” He tried to keep his voice even, to inject a modicum of reassurance to his tone. “You’re all right.”

She managed a faint smile that quickly vanished as the pain consumed her, her brow furrowed in the concentration it took to continue. “You’re a bad liar.” Her eyes widened as the events of the night came back to her, and her grip tightened convulsively on his hand. “Giles, Xander – ”

“Sshhh – Ssh, love. Don’t worry about that now; we’ll straighten everything out.”

“But he tried to take the amulet. Xander.” Tears spilled down her cheeks, her body still shaking mercilessly. Giles wrapped his jacket more tightly around her, and he re-situated them so that he was seated against the wall beside her. Carefully pulling her into his lap, he held her close in a last-ditch effort to restore some warmth to her traumatized body.

“Buffy, I don’t want you to worry about that right now… I want you to just focus on what you need to do to heal.”

Her eyes started to close, and he took her chin roughly in his hand, forcing her to look at him.

“Listen to me, dammit! I’ve taught you this before… Slayer healing. You have it, Buffy – you have it in you to recover from this. But I need you to focus all of your energy, every ounce of your strength, on making yourself better.”

She nodded, her eyes already beginning to close once more. The tears continued to spill, and he gently wiped them away with his thumb, leaning closer.

“Buffy.” His voice shook with emotion. “Please… I swear to you, I will get us through this. I will find a way.”

A tremor ran through her, more violent than the convulsive shivering she’d been doing, and she suddenly stiffened. In a strangled voice, she whispered, “Don’t leave me until I’m gone – please.” She fought for her next breath before continuing. “I know that’s not what I’m supposed to say.” Giles swept the hair back from her face, no longer trying to hide the fact of his own tears. “I’m supposed to tell you to go on, leave me here.” Her voice broke, an unfathomable pain shadowing her eyes before she continued. “But I don’t want to die alone, Giles.”

He forced confidence into his tone. “I’ll make you a deal.”

At this, her eyes opened fully once more, a vague surprise lingering before the pain swept through. “It’s not nice to bargain with a dying girl,” she whispered.

A haunted smile touched his lips at her response. “The deal is this: I won’t leave if you won’t.”

She studied him for a long moment of silence, the doubt in her eyes heartbreaking for its clarity. “You promise?”

He nodded, not trusting his voice. Finally, he whispered roughly, “I swear it, on my life. I will never leave you again.”

When she’d lost consciousness once more, Giles cradled her in his arms, rocking her gently, praying to a God he didn’t even know he believed in anymore. The world was brutal – it was a terrible place to live in much of the time, he knew that. He’d watched friends die, watched forces tear each other apart, seen good men fall – he’d even been the one falling, on more than one occasion. But the only thing that he knew, without a doubt, was that he did not want to be part of this strange, terrifying world without her. He’d managed it once, and it had been a slow, pitiless quartering of his soul that he knew he would not survive again.

Summoning his last reserves of strength, Giles gently lifted her slight form and struck out once more.

When he finally reached his destination, the first light of dawn was coming through the sewer grates above. Twice, he’d had to stop moving in order to administer CPR, setting her down in half an inch of rancid water, terror gripping him as he pounded her fragile-looking chest in a desperate attempt to restart her heart. They were both filthy, soaked through, and Giles’ nerves were stretched taut as he staggered from the sewer with his fallen Slayer.

Throughout the night, he’d been charting his course with magicks. As a result, he was not only physically exhausted, but mentally drained as well. Without them, however, they could have been wandering the tunnels for days. And Giles knew, without question, that Buffy did not have days to spare.

A gray dawn had settled over the streets of London when Giles emerged, carefully keeping to the shadows until he’d reached an innocuous wooden door at the end of an equally innocuous street. It was part of a shabby neighborhood in a series of shabby neighborhoods, a place he hadn’t frequented since his youth. After a moment’s hesitation, he knocked lightly - hoping against hope that, though he hadn’t seen his old friend in several months, they were still in good standing.

He was met with frenzied barking coming from inside before a tall, slender woman answered the door, her short, dark hair still slightly mussed from sleep. Pushing an enormous mutt back gently with her foot, she opened the door wider when she realized it was Giles. At sight of the near-drowned Watcher and unconscious young woman in his arms, she seemed surprisingly unfazed. With a glance into the street, she hurriedly ushered him inside.

“I’ve been expecting you.”

He looked at her in surprise, his relief overwhelming. Swallowing a sudden onslaught of emotion, he attempted to straighten with Buffy still in his arms. Though she was tiny, he’d now been carrying her for the better part of six hours, and the strain on his back was excruciating. Concern flashed across his old friend’s face, and she quickly led him to the back of her tidy little home, the dog bounding happily after them.

“You can bring her in here.” A room had been prepared, the bed freshly made, a basin at the night stand with fresh bandages and medicinal herbs beside it. There was a fireplace within the room that must have been raging all night; though the heat might have been unbearable to anyone in a normal state, to Giles – just as chilled as Buffy – it was heaven.

“How did you know?”

The woman smiled softly. “A Slayer critically wounded – I felt it, last night. Focused in a bit more and found you.”

Giles gently lay Buffy on the bed, his eyes misting once he had an opportunity to actually see her in the light. She was ghostly pale, her lovely blonde hair matted with mud and water, her dress torn and body shaking. For an instant, Giles could do nothing but stand over her, fighting a surge of emotions from the exhausting night they’d just survived. The woman stood beside him, running her hand soothingly over his back as he struggled to regain control before she leaned down to check on Buffy.

“She seems stable at the moment. Her pulse isn’t the strongest I’ve ever heard, but it’s regular. And the bleeding looks as though it’s stopped. I’ll need your help to tend to her – didn’t think it wise to call anyone in, but I can’t do it alone. You’re all right with that?”

He nodded briefly, his gaze never leaving Buffy’s form.

“I’ll just get some fresh water boiling; if you’ll get her out of those wet clothes, we can begin.” The woman smiled teasingly at the faint blush that crept up Giles’ cheeks, shaking her head. “Rupert – I don’t recall you being all that bashful about undressing young women in the past.”

Giles caught the woman’s eye, managing a faint grin. The degree of calm with which she was handling the situation was working wonders for him. He felt a glimmer of hope that perhaps, just perhaps, things might work out all right after all. “Things change, Sylvia. I don’t know that it’s appropriate – ”

She shook her head firmly, cutting him off. “She knows you, and she trusts you. Even if she’s unconscious, it’s better that she sense a familiar presence tending her than a stranger.”

Without another word, the woman left him, gently closing the door behind her. Giles sat down at the edge of the bed, stroking the hair back from Buffy’s forehead before beginning.

“Somehow this isn’t the moment I imagined, you know,” he whispered painfully. The dress she’d been so pleased with just twelve hours ago was now a tattered ruin. Giles used a pair of scissors on the nightstand to cut the fabric away, the soaked material plastered to her cold flesh. When he’d cut the dress and stockings away and he saw the wound for the first time, a wave of nausea washed over him. He stood over her for a moment in silence, fighting the bile burning at the back of his throat. To see the perfection of her form blemished by the furious-looking wound, infection already spreading in an angry red burn to her side… Fury buoyed his strength suddenly, leaving him shaking as he thought of what Ethan had done.

A moment later, Sylvia knocked lightly on the door before re-entering with a pot of boiling water that she poured carefully into the waiting basin. She smiled softly when she saw Buffy’s small, nearly nude form on the coverlet.

“That wet underwear isn’t helping her any.” She indicated the black panties and bra that Giles had been trying to avoid. Taking pity on him, the woman helped him to remove the last of Buffy’s clothes – Giles pointedly averting his eyes – and then they wrapped her carefully in a large terrycloth robe. Sylvia smiled approvingly.

“First step accomplished: She’s dry, and she’s on her way to getting warmer.”

Giles swallowed painfully, knowing what was next. “Now the bullet?”

“Now the bullet. No organs were hit, so there doesn’t seem to be a danger of internal bleeding.”

“You can tell already?”

She smiled indulgently. “There was a reason you brought her here. I’m the best – you know that. I’ve already visualized it; she was very lucky. Now, we just need to get the bullet out and seal the wound, and she can begin to heal.”

At her words, Giles paled visibly. “You’re sure that’s necessary?”

“Sealing it? You know it is, Rupert. If you want me to help her, you need to accept my methods.”

Sitting back down beside Buffy, he touched the back of his hand to her forehead once more. He closed his eyes against a fresh surge of emotions, and nodded. “Let’s get on with it, then.”


	9. Chapter 9

Removing the bullet took nearly two hours, but the procedure went smoothly and Sylvia worked with the efficiency of a world-class surgeon. Buffy had been placed on a makeshift operating table in the room while Sylvia worked. Once the wound was stitched, Giles carried the Slayer gently back to the bed and lay her down. Dreading what was to come, he turned pleading eyes to his old friend.  
  
“Couldn’t we at least wait a little while – see how she fairs without sealing?”  
  
A flash of impatience crossed the woman’s face before she noted how haggard Giles looked. He still hadn’t changed from his wet clothes, and was shaking miserably. The woman appeared to give it a moment’s thought before she struck her deal.  
  
“If you’ll go take a bath and eat something, I’ll watch her progress. We can decide from there.”  
  
Giles agreed eagerly, but then stopped before leaving the room. Sylvia studied him for a moment in concern before she spoke.   
  
“She’ll be all right, Rupert.”  
  
“I promised her,” he stopped, uncertain of how to convey how deeply important it was to him that he keep this vow. “I told her I wouldn’t leave her.”  
  
“And you’re not,” the woman reassured him. “You’ll be in the next room. If anything changes, I’ll come and get you immediately.”  
  
With a last look at Buffy, he reluctantly left the room.  
  
As soon as he was outside the door, the dog was upon him. Giles knelt with creaking knees and protesting back to greet his old chum.  
  
“Hello, Moon – I know, I haven’t even said hello to you. Not polite at all, is it?”  
  
The dog’s tail wagged ecstatically, leaning his large body against Giles’ frame until Giles nearly toppled over. “Does Mum keep tea in the same place?” The Watcher asked rhetorically; Moon tilted his great woolly head slightly, looking a bit apologetic for his lack of response.  
  
The house was silent. Sylvia had lived alone since her husband – an old friend of the Giles family – had died, a couple of years before. Since that time, the Watcher had tried to come ‘round when he could; as a result, he navigated the kitchen easily, reaching down every so often to stroke Moon’s soft head as he set about making tea. Once he’d managed to get a bit of food down, he left the dog whining softly outside the lavatory door, and drew a bath.  
  
Giles felt himself begin to relax, refusing to dwell on the horrors that were undoubtedly unfolding at the Council and focusing instead on Buffy’s recovery. Gratefully easing himself out of his still-damp clothes, he’d just settled into the warm bathwater when a chilling scream broke the stillness, emanating from Buffy’s room.  
  
Grabbing the robe Sylvia had left on a hook at the bathroom door, Giles bolted down the hall and into the room. Buffy’s eyes were wide open, her face flushed, and Sylvia knelt over her trying in vain to pin the Slayer’s shoulders to the bed and keep her immobile.  
  
Giles quickly intervened, grinding out furiously, “What the hell happened? I told you to call me if she awoke.”  
  
“That was the way she woke up,” Sylvia countered. “I told you,” the woman’s tone remained even, but Giles knew her well enough to sense her anger. “I need to do the sealing – without it, I can only ensure that the bullet came out. But nothing’s been done to fight the fever, guard against infection…”  
  
“Giles!” Buffy tried to sit up again, and Giles gently took her small shoulders in his hands and pushed her back onto the bed. She fought him for a moment, not seeming to realize who it was. Finally, her eyes found his and she calmed visibly.  
  
“You’re here,” she whispered.  
  
“I’m here. We’re going to take care of you.”  
  
She nodded uncomprehendingly, her eyelids fluttering as she fought unconsciousness. Giles looked up at Sylvia, pleading, but the look on her face told him that this was the only way. Gently, he took Buffy’s chin in his hand. She opened her eyes once more at the contact.  
  
“It hurts, Giles,” she said softly.  
  
Giles sighed. “Yes, I imagine it must. It won’t much longer – we’re going to do something to help it. But, Buffy… You must stay awake. You must trust me, and you must stay awake for this to work.”  
  
She smiled softly, looking at him with the vague pliancy of one not completely in her right mind. “I trust you.”  
  
Where she had been ice-cold, now Giles noted that the Slayer’s flesh was on fire. He had no idea what her temperature might be, but knew that she would remain in danger as long as the fever were allowed to continue unchecked. Giles looked to Sylvia once more.  
  
“Where do you want me?”  
  
* * * * *  
  
Moments later Giles sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard with legs slightly parted so that Buffy could be cradled between them, his arms around her, her head and back resting against his chest. She was shaking uncontrollably, burning up, and Giles watched with a mix of dread and fascination as Sylvia prepared her for the ritual. The lights had been extinguished in favor of candles, incense burning at the bedside. Sylvia had changed into a flowing, royal-blue robe, and the bedroom door was shut securely to ensure they complete the ritual uninterrupted.  
  
She stopped first at the eastern corner of the room, kneeling at a small ceramic vase. Reaching in, she withdrew a handful of earth.  
  
“Blessed be the soil, may it nourish the soul.”  
  
“Blessed be the soil, may it nourish the soul,” Giles echoed.  
  
Stroking Buffy’s hair reassuringly, he suppressed a smile when she craned her neck backward to look at him in confusion. “My turn?”  
  
He nodded, and she repeated the words.  
  
“Blessed be the soil, may it nourish the soul.”  
  
At the western corner of the room, Sylvia bent once more; a similar ceramic vase, this one holding water, awaited. Dipping the earth in the water, she continued.  
  
“Blessed be the river, may it replenish the blood.”  
  
Giles repeated the words, followed by Buffy. She tensed in his arms and he cradled her more closely, trying not to let her sense his own fear.  
  
At the southern corner of the room, there was no vase. Instead, Sylvia had poured a circle of ground mallow root around an object Giles was sure Buffy had yet to see. Sylvia knelt to pick up the item, pressing the wet earth into the blunt end; Buffy caught her breath at the sight.  
  
“Blessed be the iron, may it seal the flesh.”  
  
Buffy twisted in his arms, straining to catch his eye. Leaning in, he whispered the words to her. “Blessed be the iron, may it seal the flesh.”  
  
Their eyes met, and she swallowed painfully as tears ran down her cheeks. “Blessed be the iron, may it seal the flesh.”  
  
When Sylvia knelt at the fireplace, her words were so low that Giles couldn’t hear them. It didn’t matter, though; he knew them by heart. Still with his mouth at Buffy’s ear, he recited the phrase softly.  
  
“Blessed be the fire, for it purifies the blood spilled and repels the evil man hath wrought.”  
  
Sylvia returned to the fireplace. Giles placed a gentle kiss at Buffy’s temple and took her hands in his own as she stiffened at sight of the branding iron blazing orange before her. Buffy swallowed, turning her head as she ground out with eyes shut tight,  
  
“Blessed be the fire, for it purifies the blood spilled and repels the evil man hath wrought.”  
  
The smell of her burning flesh mixed with the incense, a sickening hiss the only sound before Buffy’s agonized cry. Her hands clenched painfully around Giles’ fingers and he welcomed the pain, knowing it was only a fraction of what she was feeling. Sylvia held the iron against the wound for a full sixty seconds. Giles could feel Buffy losing consciousness, felt her body going slack, and whispered frantically.  
  
“Please - you have to stay conscious, Buffy. Just a few moments more.”  
  
She nodded blindly, mute, her body once more as tight as a coiled spring as she waited until he told her she could let go. At last, Sylvia met his eye and nodded silently.  
  
“All right, Buffy… It’s done,” he whispered. The words were barely out of his mouth before her body relaxed completely, her grip loosening on his fingers. Sylvia said nothing, withdrawing from the room and closing the door quietly behind her.  
  
Giles carefully got up and lay Buffy back down in the blankets. Her hair was wet, tangled from the heat of the fever, her face blotched from the tears she’d shed. Wasting only a moment on thoughts of propriety, Giles recalled the promise he had made. He would not leave her again. Taking off his robe, clad in boxers and t-shirt that Sylvia had provided, he pulled back the covers and lay down beside his Slayer in exhaustion.  
  
And slept.  
  



	10. Chapter 10

AT THE GALA, TWENTY-FOUR HOURS EARLIER:  
  
Dawn raced into the alley with about a hundred cops and boring Watcher wannabes on her tail, her heart pounding. She’d seen the whole thing: seen Buffy come out of that room, seen the security guard shoot, seen her go down…  
  
And she knew Willow had worked some serious mojo in there because like two seconds later, Buffy and Giles were gone and everything was total chaos. And there was Willow, the tiniest bit of black still in her hair from the spell. Dawn knew _Vogue_ had a thing about how uncool it was to have your roots showing, but, really, those guys had no clue.  
  
But then she’d come out to the alley, and the only one there was Xander, lying on the pavement completely out of it. She went to him, kneeling at his side and trying so hard not to stare, because his patch was up and she could see where his big, beautiful brown eye had once been. And she’d thought about this before – about how she would act like it was no big, or maybe say something sweet or even, you know, _touch_ it. Not the eye itself, but maybe his cheek, just to prove she wasn’t grossed out.  
  
But everything was totally crazy, and she felt sick from watching Buffy go down, and from having no idea what was happening. And there was Xander, looking at her from his one good eye and the other one just a big black hole, and she just…stared. In a second, he realized what she was looking at and turned bright red, hurrying to put the patch back. And before she could say anything, like six gazillion people came over and started asking questions.  
  
* * * * *  
  
After that, the questions just wouldn’t stop. There were rumors coming from everywhere: Giles had gone bad and taken Buffy along for the ride; Buffy’d gone bad and Giles was in love with her; they’d killed that nice redheaded security guard and taken off with the amulet so they could be together in Tahiti or something. Quentin Travers’ smarmy grandson, Will, had sent everyone home from the party and then had taken the Scoobies straight to the Council for questioning. Willow got a room all to herself, on account of the Council knowing something was up with her magick, but they let Andrew, Xander, and Dawn stay together.  
  
It was three a.m. and Dawn was still in her dress, totally dazed from everything that had happened. Exhausted, and wired, and kind of queasy. And Travers wouldn’t get out of her face.  
  
“And you have no idea of your sister’s whereabouts?”  
  
He was pacing again. He wasn’t a big guy - about Andrew’s size, and wiry, with dirty-blonde hair and green eyes that might have been nice if he wasn't such an ass. The room was too bright, like some stupid interrogation in a bad forties movie. Dawn felt like she was going to lose it, her stomach clenched tight. The bastard repeated the question, and she ground out between clenched teeth:  
  
“I told you. I don’t know what happened. Giles came to Rome and asked us to come to the party.”  
  
“But before that he and your sister had had minimal contact, isn’t that the case?”  
  
Andrew nodded immediately. “That’s right, Mr. Travers. They barely talked before then, ever since Sunnydale got sucked into the Hellmouth. They had issues.”  
  
Travers raised his eyebrows at that, and Xander shook his head.  
  
“Nice, Andrew.”  
  
“What? They did.” He looked at Dawn like she was going to back him up or something, then gave up when she just looked away from him. “It’s hard for them to, you know, define their relationship. The tension gradually ate away at their bond like a – like a… rat, chewing through the primordial ties of man,” he finished triumphantly.  
  
Xander rolled his eye, and Dawn snorted. “That doesn’t even make sense.”  
  
“Does too. It’s a – ”  
  
“Enough!” Travers roared. Andrew sank deeper into his chair, and the man headed straight for Dawn. “You’re the only family the Slayer has. You mean to tell me you have no idea – ”  
  
She felt her eyes tearing and tried desperately to hold on, looking away from him until she could pull herself together. But Travers was apparently into eye contact: he grabbed her chin, forcing her gaze back to him.  
  
Way wrong move.  
  
Xander was up in a split second, practically jumping over the table to get to the other man. He grabbed him by his starched, stuffed shirt and backed him up against the wall, pressing his forearm into Travers’ throat.  
  
“Okay, here’s the thing: you know she didn’t do anything, right? I mean, she was in the hall dancing the whole time. She just saw her sister get shot, and it’s late, and we’re all tired. So what I’m gonna do is take Dawn home, all right?”  
  
Travers said nothing for a minute, and Xander pressed his arm just a little tighter into his throat.  
  
“All right?” he repeated.  
  
Travers nodded silently, straightening his clothes once Xander let him go.  
  
“You’ll need to return here for more questions come morning.”  
  
Xander nodded. “I figured. Just give us a little time to sleep, get some food, change out of the whole twenties-theme thing.” He sighed, taking a step back. Dawn felt that little twinge just below her belly button when he got serious like this, and then noticed that he wasn’t quite standing up straight. He swayed unsteadily, reaching out to brace himself against the wall with a shake of the head. “Sorry – I… I guess you’re not the only one who’s wiped out around here, Dawnie. Geez. How many times has a guy gotta save the world to catch a break around here, anyway?”  
  
Travers looked at him for a few seconds before answering. “Believe me, you’ve just caught one. No one else would be allowed to leave until that amulet was recovered.”  
  
Dawn stood, going straight for Xander while Andrew still sat there looking one part terrified and two parts turned on by Xander’s show.  
  
“We really appreciate it, Mr. Travers.” Dawn forced a smile, trying to look like she meant what she was saying. “We know you’re under a lot of pressure.”  
  
On that note, Andrew stood. “Yeah, we really do. And if you ever need any help with your investigation – ”  
  
Dawn grabbed his arm in one hand, still semi-holding Xander up at her other side. “Say goodnight, Andrew.”  
  
* * * * *  
  
They went straight to Giles’ place. Willow was already there waiting; Dawn started to say something, but Xander put his finger to his lips quickly. Andrew nodded, catching on immediately.  
  
“Ight-ray. Icks-nay on the alk-tay. Oom-ray may be ugged-bay.”  
  
Dawn rolled her eyes, whispering at him, “That’s good, Andrew. As long as whoever’s listening isn’t older than like eight, we should totally be safe.”  
  
Xander gestured toward the bathroom, stretching casually. “Well, I’m just gonna take a quick shower, then get ready to hit the hay.”  
  
He disappeared into the bathroom and Dawn heard the water come on. With baffled looks all around, the remaining trio found places in the sitting room. They sprawled out in silence until Xander reappeared around the corner, fully clothed.  
  
“Are you coming?” he mouthed.  
  
Willow grinned, hopping up from her place on the sofa and joining her friend quickly with a gentle swat on the arm. “Way to be stealthy, Xand,” she whispered – just a little too loudly to be considered a whisper, though.

Andrew was about to add something, but Dawn hopped up and quickly clamped her hand over his mouth, dragging him into the bathroom after Willow and Xander.  
  
* * * * *  
  
So you’re sure it’s not bugged in here?” Willow shouted above the noise.  
  
Xander shrugged. “How the heck should I know? I don’t know what these things look like. I checked all around, and we’ve got the water running…”  
  
“And the music’s a nice touch,” Dawn added loudly. Dashboard Confessional raged at them on full blast; Xander blushed a little, turning down the volume.  
  
It was pretty steamy in there, with the hot water running and four bodies crammed in tight. The guys had ditched their jackets and ties; Andrew still had his white dress shirt on, unbuttoned at the collar and with sleeves rolled up, but Xander had stripped to his t-shirt and dress slacks, suspenders hanging down. If it weren’t for the fact that her sister was in grave danger (again), Dawn was sure she would’ve had a hard time concentrating.  
  
Willow was looking kinda wiped, and Dawn had to admit that she wasn’t exactly the life of the party herself at that point.  
  
She sat on the toilet staring at a run in her stockings, while everyone ran down what they knew. Which turned out to be zilch.  
  
“You know they wouldn’t have done what everyone's saying,” Willow insisted.  
  
Andrew shook his head, and Dawn wondered yet again how a guy who could be so cool so much of the time could turn into a complete turd the minute any sign of trouble came around. “The proof seems irrefutable. Someone came around the corner and _saw_ Mr. Giles strangling that man. And then Buffy came flying out of the room like Enigma in X-Men – the movie, not the comic book, because in the comic book – ”  
  
“All right, and another country heard from,” Xander interrupted hastily. “So… What are we supposed to do?”  
  
“You’re sure you didn’t see anything? I mean – you were right out there.” For a few seconds, it felt like it was just her and Xander alone in there, his eyes (well, his eye) on hers, searching for answers. He shrugged apologetically, looking frustrated with himself.  
  
“I’m sorry… I don’t remember anything. There was just this weird lapse. I was in the party, dancin’ it up with the Dawnster,” a little smile at her at the memory that made her blush all the way to her toenails, and then he looked away before anyone could catch it. “And then… I don’t know. I went to the restroom to freshen up, and the next thing I know, I’m out in the alley. And Giles was there, but I have no idea how I got there, or how he got there, and he just pushed me out of the way and took off with Buffy.”  
  
Willow shook her head. “It doesn’t make any sense – none of this makes any sense. First they’re hardly speaking, and then he shows up in Rome and stays with you guys for a whole week, without so much as a ‘Hey guys, I’m incommunicado for a while’ to the rest of us.”  
  
Xander picked up where she left off, looking just as confused. “And then they’re fighting, and then they’re not, and next thing I know he’s making her Slayer cookies and she’s all over him on the dance floor, which – by the way – still trying to erase that whole scene from my noggin.”  
  
Andrew nodded. “And then Mr. Giles has savagely murdered an innocent man, stolen a priceless gem, and run off with ta woman more than half his age in his arms.”  
  
Leaning back against the toilet seat, Dawn let out a long sigh of frustration. “Y’know, this is totally what happens when your big sister is the Slayer.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some reference in here at the opening of the chapter to Ethan/Giles and their magick orgy past, so if that sort of thing skeezes you out, you might want to skip that part. It's brief and not terribly graphic, but figured I would give a heads-up.

PRESENT:  
  
Fire. He could feel it, scorching through his subconscious; watched the flames move upward in ever-tightening spirals, toward a blue, blue sky. Heard Eyghon speaking to him, through him, and watched as though from a long distance, as Angelus appeared on a black steed. Dragging Jenny behind, tied at the ankles, her body bouncing grotesquely on the ground as the demon pulled her across a brilliantly green pasture.

The sky went black, the grass began to bleed crimson, and Giles felt the loss, the fury, building to a pinpoint inside his body. And suddenly he was that boy again, that youth playing with darkness he had no business touching. It was no stretch; he had been that boy with the loose curls at his neck, the languid grace and cocksure confidence of one who comes from wealth. One who understands that destiny is his, whether or not he chooses to accept it.  
  
Always playing with that fire. In the dream, Ethan is behind him; his hands at Ripper’s bare shoulders as though about to ride him. Ethan’s voice at his ear, whispering something that Ripper the boy can’t quite understand; something that Giles the man would understand too well, if only he could make out the words. Ethan – a young Ethan, too thin from long nights of drugs and magicks and no real nourishment to be had – worms his way around to Ripper’s front, pushing him down until he’s lying before the young warlock. Ethan supports his weight on his hands, prone above the boy that Giles once was. They are both naked, Ripper beneath the other boy, his eyes averted, something running through Giles’ mind – a mix of those things that he’s grateful not to remember and those things he has sworn to never forget.  
  
Their eyes lock, and Giles feels the tug of consciousness, a glimmer of remembrance. There is something he should know. His body falls away, and he lives for a few short moments in that gaze. Something he needs to remember. Ethan’s eyes are pure fire, boring into him, and then they flicker suddenly – as though a light has gone out. With Giles still watching, they seem to shrivel in on themselves… Losing the spark of color, nothing remaining but sightless orbits and Giles twists himself away when the first mealy white maggot begins to worm its way from the socket.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Giles awoke with a start, breathless, slick with perspiration, the nightmare still crawling like a live thing beneath his skin. Gradually, his heart slowed, and he became aware of his surroundings: an unfamiliar room, a ceiling of wooden rafters…and a weight, on his chest. He looked down, utterly disoriented, and found Buffy curled up with her arm draped over his stomach, her face pressed to his shoulder, his own arm wrapped around her securely. For a moment, the Watcher let himself savor the sensation of her beside him. Somewhere in the night, he’d discarded his t-shirt and now was clad only in boxers. From the feel of the Slayer by his side, however, he was the overdressed of the two; her body, still pulsing with the heat of the recently broken fever, was pressed against him, and he could feel every satin curve intimately. Before he could revel in the strange and wonderful experience of Buffy naked at his side, however, the past seventy-two hours came rushing back to him: the amulet, the party… Eliot.  
  
Ethan.  
  
Before he could rouse himself further, Buffy stirred beside him. He felt her body tense as she slowly came ‘round, attempting to sit up painfully. Giles tightened his hold on her gently.  
  
“Ssh – Go slowly, Buffy. You’re all right.”  
  
Reluctantly, he disentangled his body from hers, leaving the sheet for her but taking the blanket to conceal his rather prominent morning erection. He motioned for her to remain where she was, noting the returned color to her cheeks with some relief.  
  
“Giles, what the hell’s going on? Why am I – ” Her eyes widened as she realized her state of undress, and compared it with his own.  
  
“Giles, why am I naked? In bed with you? And where the hell are we?”  
  
He attempted a reassuring smile, allowing himself to bask for just a moment in the reality of her recovery. She had been asleep for nearly two days; Giles had gotten up briefly to eat and bathe at some point the day before, but then had found refuge next to his Slayer again, determined not to leave her until she had awoken. And now, here she was. Reaching for the robe he’d hung at the bedpost the night before, he slipped into the garment as he tried to figure out how best to explain events to her.  
  
“What do you remember?” he finally prompted.  
  
She narrowed her eyes, about to protest the mental exercise, when the gravity of his tone registered. Silently, he watched her re-trace the past few days in her mind.  
  
“I remember the party. Dancing with you.”  
  
He nodded his encouragement, realizing with surprise just how many lifetimes ago that dance seemed.  
  
“Then I went to get the amulet.” She closed her eyes in concentration, the sheet around her falling slightly off her shoulders. Giles swallowed, quickly averting his gaze. Suddenly, Buffy’s eyes flew open as the entire night came back to her.  
  
“Xander! Giles, it was Xander. I was in the room, and I had the amulet in my bag and was just about to put the fake one in the case, and Xander came in.” She set her jaw, shaking her head impatiently at the tears that filled her eyes. “What is it with my friends and the Dark Side, anyway? Angel, you, Willow… And now Xander.”  
  
“It’s not Xander,” Giles said softly.  
  
She looked at him in puzzlement. “Did he get himself split in two again? Or – or did someone make a wish? Because I really wish people would stop doing that.”  
  
Giles allowed a slight smile before he became serious once more.  
  
“It’s Ethan.”  
  
For a moment, there was silence between them while Buffy absorbed the revelation. Finally, she looked at him doubtfully.  
  
“Ethan? But…” Understanding struck, and for a moment Giles saw a touch of the kind of ire Buffy hadn’t shown since her mother’s death.  
  
“Oh my god – Dawn! That horny little creep was all over her!”  
  
Giles shook his head quickly, amusement showing plainly in his eyes before he could hide it.  
  
“No – I’m quite certain that the ‘horny little creep’ to which you are referring was entirely Xander. I suspect that the party was the first time Ethan had actually attempted to _take_ _over_ Xander’s body. Up to that point, he’d simply been hiding in his subconscious; eavesdropping, as it were.”  
  
“But how? Why Xander?”  
  
The dream returned to him suddenly; in an instant, Giles understood the significance. “Of course… It only makes sense. God, I’m a bloody fool!”  
  
Buffy cleared her throat. “Excuse me – care to share with the rest of the class? Giles, what’s going on?”  
  
He sighed. “Xander’s eye, I suspect, left him vulnerable. I never imagined anyone would exploit it to this extent. Or that anyone would even think to. Stupid of me, really – of course, this is just the kind of opportunity Ethan would have been waiting for.”  
  
Buffy stared at him in confusion, pulling the sheet more securely around herself as she gingerly changed positions. “What the hell are you talking about? How would Xander’s eye make him vulnerable to Ethan?”  
  
“Magicks, of course,” Giles explained. He retrieved his glasses from the nightstand, pacing the room as he continued. “Any traumatic, penetrating wound inflicted at the hand of evil leaves one vulnerable.”  
  
“And talk about literal interpretation of the text,” Buffy said softly.  
  
Giles nodded grimly. “Precisely. The way that Isaac injured Xander left him open to any number of dark forces seeking a likely host. I was stupid enough to believe that perhaps… I don’t know,” he shrugged ineptly. “At the time, there were just too many issues with which to be concerned, and once Sunnydale was gone, Xander had to deal with Anya’s death…”  
  
“And you didn’t want him to have to face the big bad branding iron of justice,” Buffy completed for him.  
  
He smiled ruefully. “You remember, then?”  
  
She rolled her eyes as he returned to sit at the edge of the bed. “Kinda hard to forget being scorched with a giant poker. Even as out of it as I was, that kind of thing tends to stay with you.”  
  
“Yes,” he murmured regretfully. “I suppose it does.” Their eyes met, a level of understanding between them that had been missing for years now. Giles felt a familiar surge of emotion for her, but didn’t try to hide it this time. Reaching out to her, he gently brushed a tendril of hair back from her forehead.  
  
“How do you feel?”  
  
She took a minute to consider the question, then seemed surprised at the answer. “All right, actually – a little sore, but…not that bad. Three points for that good old Slayer healing. You?”  
  
He winced. “You’d think that if they came up with Slayer healing, they could have had the foresight to provide something similar for Watchers.”  
  
“Yeah, but you guys are just supposed to watch. So far, you’re the only Watcher I’ve met who’s into contact sports.”  
  
“Yes, well… Hopefully, the hands-off approach is a thing of the past with the new Watchers-in-training. Perhaps a visit with the Powers That Be is in order.”  
  
Before they could continue their conversation, there was a soft knock on the door and Sylvia poked her head inside.  
  
“Sorry, but I thought I heard voices. There’s some tea if you’d like, and I’ve made a spot of breakfast, if you’d care to join me. Or I can – ”  
  
The door opened just a touch further, and there was something of a struggle that Giles noted with mounting horror when he saw the bushy head squeezing through the partially closed door. Sylvia caught the horror, but she was entirely unsuccessful at catching the dog that pushed past her and bounded into the room. Giving Giles only a glance, the mutt bounded onto the bed with wagging tail and proceeded to try and settle himself contentedly on Buffy’s lap – not an easy feat, since he was nearly twice her size.  
  
“Oh, Lord – I’m terribly sorry.” Sylvia rushed in and grabbed the dog by its collar, but Buffy protested immediately.  
  
“No, no – it’s totally fine. He’s beautiful,” she murmured, clearly captivated. Giles watched in surprise as she ran her hands over Moon’s thick coat.  
  
“I didn’t even realize you liked dogs.”  
  
She smiled. “I love them. Mom was allergic, so we never had one. Then after she was gone… well, things were a little hairy after that. And then I was dead, and by the time I got back there was all that time-consuming apocalypse stuff. Not much time for paper-training Fido in the mix.”  
  
“I suppose not,” Giles admitted. For a moment, he remained mesmerized at the picture of contentment before him. Buffy remained partially hidden by the sheet, save a glimpse of creamy white thigh and the swell of a firm, supple breast. The dog had finally settled with its head in her lap. Buffy sat with one graceful hand casually holding the sheet to her chest, the other scratching the dog’s ears. Coming to himself, Giles realized that formal introductions had yet to be made.  
  
“Well – That’s Moon. Moonshadow, to be precise.”  
  
Buffy grinned, looking to Sylvia. “Like the song?”  
  
“Precisely,” Sylvia said, stepping more fully into the room. “He followed me home one day when he was just a puppy.”  
  
“‘I’m being followed by a Moonshadow,’” Buffy sang softly, almost absently. Giles stared at her in amazement, then forcibly shook himself out of his reverie and continued.  
  
“And this is Sylvia. An old friend of mine.”  
  
Buffy looked up, and Giles caught her appraising glance – measuring her up. There was a moment of something that Giles might have taken for envy in anyone but his Slayer, before she offered a hesitant smile.  
  
“Sorry. I seem to be a little… well, clothingly challenged at the moment.”  
  
Sylvia looked confused before Giles explained quickly, “I believe she’s referring to her state of undress.”  
  
“Oh – oh, of course.” Looking slightly embarrassed, Sylvia rushed from the room in search of something for Buffy to wear. When she was gone, Giles caught Buffy’s eye once more. She smiled, then a slow blush crept up her cheeks at the intensity of his gaze.  
  
“Giles, you’re staring.”  
  
He started, pulling himself back. “Am I? I’m sorry. It’s just that…”  
  
She nodded knowingly. “I know – things are awful. And you’re tired. You must be.”  
  
Swallowing his reservations, he shook his head. “No, that’s not what I was going to say.” He paused, then resolutely continued. “I was just thinking how…lovely you are.” She looked up at him in surprise. There was a long, painful silence before Giles shook his head, quickly removing his glasses and polishing them ardently, all too aware that Buffy was still studying him curiously. He breathed an almost audible sigh of relief when Sylvia returned a moment later.  
  
“I went through some of my things, and – well, you’re much smaller than I am, but this will have to do for the moment.” The woman set a deep green dress on the bed, and was about to reach for Moon when Buffy stopped her.  
  
“Is it – would it be all right if he stayed? I’ll just get dressed, and come out for breakfast in a few minutes. But I kind of like having him here.”  
  
Sylvia nodded. “Of course – he’s all yours. If he gets cheeky while you’re changing, though, don’t blame me.” The woman grinned, catching Giles’ eye. “Speaking of which, Rupert, perhaps you ought to come with me, and I can find something a bit more modest for you to wear for the rest of the day.”  
  
At the words, Giles realized that he was standing with his robe partially undone and only boxer shorts beyond that. He flushed crimson from his hairline to his toes, and silently followed Sylvia out of the room, leaving Buffy and Moon for a moment to themselves.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Three points for Slayer healing indeed.  
  
Once she’d showered and dressed, Buffy emerged from their little cave looking as though she’d suffered no more than a scratch. Though the dress Sylvia had provided was indeed too large for her, Buffy had cinched it with a scarf at the waist, and the hemline fell flatteringly just below her knees. Not a terrible fit, to be sure, since though Sylvia was tall, she was slender for her height. But then, Giles was fairly certain that Buffy was the kind of woman who could wear a burlap sack well.  
  
As soon as they’d sat down at the table, Buffy’s plate piled high with waffles, eggs, and toast, Giles began.  
  
“Our first order of business will have to be finding Ethan.”  
  
Buffy grimaced, waiting until she’d swallowed a mouthful of waffle and washed it down with orange juice before she responded. “That shouldn’t be too hard. He’s camped out in Xander’s brain, and Xander’s brain seems pretty occupied with my little sister at the moment.”  
  
“Well – yes, that may be the case. But I’m not speaking of Ethan’s consciousness, I’m speaking of his body.”  
  
Sylvia nodded. “Have you tried a locator spell?”  
  
“It’s no good. He’s cloaked himself too effectively.”  
  
“So if you can’t find him with magicks, and we’re on every major news network in Europe, how are we supposed to find this guy? Because I’m not all that comfortable just leaving him loose in Xander’s head. He’s got access to way too many people that I care about that way.”  
  
Giles nodded his agreement, but remained silent as they continued eating, considering their dilemma. Finally, Sylvia stood and began clearing dishes from the table. When she was out of the room, Buffy leaned closer to Giles and whispered,  
  
“Giles, how do you know you can trust her? I mean… Isn’t she from your Ripper days, too? If she – ”  
  
The subject of Buffy’s inquiry returned to the room then, showing no sign that she was disturbed in the least by the suggestion that she might betray them.  
  
“I’m pre-Ripper, actually,” she corrected Buffy.  
  
The Slayer looked confused. “Pre-Ripper?”  
  
Giles nodded his confirmation. “Pre quite a lot of things, actually. Sylvia’s family was friends with mine, when we were growing up. She was notably absent during my Ripper days.”  
  
“Thanks to Randall,” Sylvia added softly, regret darkening her attractive features as she sat down to the table once more. Buffy looked at them both at the name.  
  
“The boy that died because of Eyghon?”  
  
Giles nodded once more, holding Sylvia’s eyes as he let the name sink in. As always, it managed to chafe something inside him, but it was no longer the grievous tearing he’d once felt. Now the name brought just a twinge – a wound that had scarred over long before, but remained just a shade too sensitive upon direct contact.  
  
“Sylvia was Randall’s sister. I’d known the family for years, as I said; Randall was the one who introduced me to Ethan and the others. Thankfully, though, he had the foresight to keep his younger sister well removed from that crowd.”  
  
“Much to my dismay at the time,” Sylvia noted with a dry smile.  
  
Giles smiled at the woman fondly, remembering the chaos, the passion, the utter idiocy of those days. “I do seem to recall a tearful telephone call to my flat the middle of one night, begging me to let you join us.”  
  
The woman blushed, and Giles was strangely pleased to note the attentiveness with which Buffy was taking in this new information.  
  
“Well, Randall refused to even hear me out. And I’d always had that dreadful crush on you… I thought if I used my womanly wiles on you, perhaps you could be convinced.”  
  
“But no dice,” Buffy guessed promptly.  
  
It was Giles turn to blush this time, when Sylvia responded. “Actually, my womanly wiles were quite effective on Rupert at the time.” She grinned outright at him, her eyes alight with a teasing spark he remembered from their childhood. “Unfortunately, Randall found us out before Rupert could take me ‘round to the others.”  
  
“Or fortunately, as the case may be,” Giles interjected. “One look at you, and Ethan would never have let you go. He loved pretty things… And you were perhaps the prettiest thing in Britain.”  
  
She chuckled faintly, rolling her eyes at Buffy as she stood and resumed clearing the table. “Ah, the old Giles charm. It only gets better with time.”  
  
Buffy looked at him for a long moment, and Giles shifted uncomfortably at the weight held in her gaze. It seemed, for a fraction of an instant, as though she were truly seeing him for the first time. The faint smile that touched her lips, the light in her eyes, suggested she was not displeased with what she saw.  
  
Abruptly, she shook her head as though to clear it, and returned to the matter at hand.  
  
“Okay, so we trust you,” her tone lowered threateningly as she leveled a gaze at the other woman, who had returned once more from the kitchen. “For now. But that still doesn’t get us any closer to finding Ethan.”  
  
“Well, I could go looking for him,” Sylvia volunteered hesitantly.  
  
Giles shook his head immediately. “No. It’s far too dangerous.”  
  
“Rupert, I know London. I know where he could hide, I have an excellent network in the magick community, and he hasn’t any idea who I am. I’m the logical choice.”  
  
He shook his head again, fully aware of the two women staring at him intently. “I won’t hear of it.”  
  
Buffy’s brow furrowed, and she stared at him in disbelief. “Won’t hear of it? This is the guy who wanted me to _kill_ my own sister to save the world, and you won’t hear of sending an experienced Wicca out to do a little recon? Giles, it doesn’t seem like we have a whole lot of options here. Ethan is with Xander, and if Xander’s about to get up close and personal with Dawn, I sure as hell don’t want Ethan along for the ride.” She paused, her eyes widening as she realized the double entendre. “Eww – forget I said that. But, Giles, they have no idea what’s going on. We have the amulet; how long do you think it’ll be before Ethan exploits his position with the others to force our hand?”  
  
Sylvia stood abruptly, her decision made, calling over her shoulder as she departed once more for the kitchen.  
  
“Well then, that’s that. I’ll just get my things together, and if you wouldn’t mind watching Moon and the house… I’ll spend a few days going ‘round trying to locate Ethan.”  
  
Giles stated to protest once more, but Buffy quickly stood and headed for the kitchen, trailing Sylvia. Moon took one look at Giles and seemed to realize he was among the defeated – the dog scrambled to his feet and padded after the women. Giles shook his head.  
  
“Right. Well, so long as I’ve been heard,” he muttered dryly as he gathered the last of the dishes from the table.  
  
And prepared to send Sylvia into battle.  
  



	12. Chapter 12

“I’m bored,” Buffy announced, collapsing with a dramatic sigh on the sofa in Sylvia’s sitting room. Giles was seated comfortably in an easy chair. He looked up briefly from the book he was reading, managing to squelch a smile and look somewhat stern.  
  
“You should be resting.”  
  
“I’m rested out, Giles. Slayer healing, remember? Three days conked out and that ritual branding thing-y pretty much did the trick.”  
  
“Well,” he shrugged. “Perhaps you could read.”  
  
“All Sylvia has here are witchy books – most of them aren’t even in English. Where is she, anyway? Dawn’s gotta be crazed by now; they don’t have a clue what’s going on.”  
  
“I know,” he nodded sympathetically. “But there’s nothing that can be done about that right now. We’ll be able to contact them soon, I promise.”  
  
Buffy stared at the ceiling with a frown, refusing to be placated. “You should do the super mind-meld thing. Maybe Sylvia needs help.”  
  
Giles set down his book with a sigh, recognizing that no more reading would be done in the immediate future.  
  
“I explained to you, it is not a ‘super mind-meld thing.’ I’ve simply opened my mind to Sylvia’s thoughts; should she require assistance, all she need do is call.”  
  
“She could at least check in,” Buffy grumbled. She stood again, pacing the small room until Giles stared at her in exasperation.  
  
“What’s gotten into you? I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen you so listless.”  
  
She shrugged. As day had turned to evening, she had changed from the dress Sylvia had provided to a pair of jeans and a man’s white, button-up shirt. The jeans were rolled at the ankles, and every so often in mid-stride she was forced to stop and hitch them back up over her slender hips. Giles had noted to his surprise that with her hair cut short, it had something of a natural wave to it; tendrils curled endearingly ‘round her face and at the back of her neck. There was a moment – a brief, unforgivable moment – when he wondered what those tendrils would feel like, how indescribably soft they would undoubtedly be, wrapped around his fingers.  
  
Coming to himself once more, he realized that Buffy had actually said something. By the expectant look on her face, she had apparently asked a question of some kind. Trying to hide his rising color, Giles removed his glasses and attempted to appear cavalier.  
  
“I’m sorry?”  
  
She rolled her eyes. “Great. I might as well be talking to the wall. I said, usually I can get all my energy out with training, or patrolling, or… I don’t know, dancing or something. And then I asked if you thought I should just make the rounds of the neighborhood, and see if there’re any vamps in need of slayage.”  
  
His eyes widened in horror at the suggestion. “Buffy, I hardly think that’s the best way to maintain a low profile.” Noting her agitation, he nodded toward Moon, lying inert on the throw rug at the center of the room.  
  
“Why don’t you take the dog for a walk?”  
  
Moon, as animated as an overstuffed teddy bear, managed to open his brown eyes to direct a glance Buffy’s way. That, however, seemed to be the most energy he could muster.  
  
“I think I might have broken him. He hasn’t moved since I took him out after dinner.”  
  
“Well, I’m not surprised. You’ve walked him every hour on the hour since Sylvia left. Not even my grandmother has a level of incontinence to necessitate that kind of rigor, and the woman’s ninety-two.”  
  
When he received no response, Giles looked up to find Buffy studying a photograph placed on the mantle above the fireplace. When she turned to face him once more, he was reminded suddenly that this was no longer a child before him. The knowledge, the world-weary understanding that she held in her manner, was at once a heartbreaking and strangely intimate thing to see. Their eyes held for a moment, and she swallowed, looking away quickly as she motioned toward the photograph.  
  
“That was her husband?”  
  
Giles nodded, turning his attention to the picture. A younger Sylvia, her hair long and unstyled, wearing a red dress that Giles remembered quite well. She was laughing somewhat riotously, a fit man with hair graying at the temples by her side, his arms wrapped around her – also laughing.  
  
“Loren.”  
  
“And you knew him too, right? They were both friends of yours?”  
  
Again, a silent nod; he was waiting for her to ask. Too often over the years, he had volunteered information only to have it brushed aside. As soon as the thought came to him, however, he realized his error. That was the way it had been, in Sunnydale. When he was a Watcher, and she was his Slayer; when he was the adult, and she the child… In a world that literally no longer existed. And so, Giles volunteered the story, watching with an amused smile as Buffy settled on the sofa, practically dragging the exhausted dog up to join her.  
  
“After Randall died, I wanted nothing to do with Ethan or the others. Had no interest in Eyghon or magicks or the rest of it… Unfortunately, that level of involvement in the black arts doesn’t just go away.”  
  
Buffy nodded seriously. Moon took up far more of the sofa than the Slayer, laying his head in her lap contentedly as she spoke. “I remember when Willow first tried to stop. I was all crazy with the Spike drama, so I wasn’t the best friend to have around… But I remember hearing her at night, trying to talk herself down.”  
  
“Yes,” Giles agreed. “It’s not easy.” Perhaps the biggest understatement of his life. Even now, years later, he could still remember the agony of that need. As though every nerve in his body were in spasm, deprived of a life force that had come to feel as essential as air and water.  
  
“I ran into Sylvia at Randall’s funeral. The others hadn’t gone, but I felt I needed to be there. We began talking, and at that point she was already a powerful Wicca in her own rite. She sensed that I was going through something. She was in school in Ireland at the time, and suggested that I come there to stay with her until I’d gotten myself together again.”  
  
Buffy studied him wisely for a moment. “So, how long did you guys go out?”  
  
He considered denying it, but then realized there really wasn’t any point. “Nearly a year. I stayed with her for six months, and then returned to London to begin training with the Council.”  
  
“And you guys did the long-distance thing.”  
  
“Not very successfully,” he admitted ruefully. “She came to visit me in London, and was even allowed into a couple of my training sessions. Her family had connections with the Council,” he explained. “There was a brief time, in fact, when she entertained the idea of becoming a Watcher herself.”  
  
Buffy looked surprised. “Really? I bet she would have been good at it.” There was a moment of silence before she seemed to remember the question that had prompted the story in the first place. “So… What about the sexy older man?” She nodded her head back toward the photograph. “She doesn’t look very old in that picture – so she must have met him pretty soon after you guys broke up.”  
  
When he didn’t respond immediately, she came to attention more completely. Shifting her gaze from the fur-rug sprawled at her side, she sat up straighter and looked at Giles pointedly. “Or _before_ you guys broke up? Come on, Giles, spill.”  
  
He sighed, rolling his eyes. “I’m so pleased I can entertain you with these tales of my past heartaches.”  
  
“Oh, please… I saw the way you guys were together – you’ve obviously both moved on. Besides, you had a front-row-seat for all my angsty break-ups. I wanna know what kind of drama built my Watcher.”  
  
“Former Watcher,” he reminded her.  
  
She met his eye once more, a faint smile on her lips. “You’ll always be my Watcher, Giles. You know that,” she said softly.  
  
He nodded, about to go into another blasted stutter, when she preempted it knowingly.  
  
“So… Who’s the gray-haired studly in the picture, Giles? Tell.”  
  
He sighed. “All right, I can see I’ll get no peace until the whole sordid story is out. So, if you must know, he was my instructor at the Council. And Sylvia’s, for the brief period of time that she was there.”  
  
Her eyes widened until he laughed outright.  
  
“It’s not nearly so scandalous as you seem to think – though of course I thought it was at the time. Because both Sylvia and my family had been involved with the Council for generations, we were raised in that fold… Loren was an acquaintance of both of our fathers, though he’d been in the field for most of my childhood. He returned around the time I began my Ripper days. Sylvia apparently met him at that point, and he tutored her in magicks… Taught her a bit about fighting, explained the lore behind the Watcher.”  
  
Buffy sat with her knees curled up to her chest, absently stroking Moon’s head as she digested this new information.  
  
“So… Loren was like her Giles.”  
  
He looked at her in surprise, weighing out the comparison carefully. “Well… In terms of age difference – yes, I suppose he was. Though she apparently never considered him – I believe the term was ‘old and gross?’”  
  
This time, it was Buffy’s turn to blush. Rolling her eyes, she sighed. “I knew that’d come to bite me in the ass someday.” Surprising him utterly, rather than dismissing the comment offhand she looked at him seriously. “You know that was just me being me, right? I mean – me being dumb, freshman, totally tactless me. I was wigged about Olivia, and everything else was changing – I just wanted one thing to stay the same. Evolution and Buffy: un-mixy things.”  
  
He smiled gently. “I don’t know about that – I think you’ve evolved quite nicely.”  
  
A flush of pleasure colored her cheeks and she averted her eyes quickly, focusing her attention once more on the dog. Giles sat and watched her in silence for a moment, recognizing for the first time the level of contentment he always seemed to experience in her presence. The fire was going nicely, the world was shut securely outside their door, and – at least for the moment – they were safe. Getting along, even. Before he could talk himself out of it, Giles casually picked up a pen lying on the end table by his chair. Buffy was still absorbed – or at least pretending to be absorbed – with the dog. Careful not to telegraph the move, Giles subtly raised the pen as though to scratch his temple, then tossed it with impressive accuracy at Buffy’s head.  
  
She caught it with a grin, her eyes alight. “Hey – it’s all fun and games ‘til somebody loses an eye, Mister.”  
  
“Ah – a phrase sadly lacking in our daily lives since the incident with Xander.” He shrugged casually. “Just testing your reflexes. Thought you might be up for a spot of training.”  
  
Her eyebrows went halfway up her forehead. “Excuse me? It’s like,” she glanced at the clock mounted on the far wall. “… almost midnight. I thought you were all settled in.”  
  
He shrugged. “It just seems inconsiderate of me to head off to bed leaving you with all that pent-up energy.” Refusing to take his eyes from hers, he let her make of the statement what she would. She was studying him curiously, appraising him in much the same way he’d watched her appraise vampires before beginning battle. Unconsciously, he tensed in his chair, certain only that whatever move she might make, it would be one that he hadn’t seen coming.  
  
He was not disappointed.  
  
Seeming to come to a decision herself, there was another moment of silence before Buffy hopped up from the sofa abruptly and headed for the far corner of the room. Giles stared after her in confusion. That confusion wasn’t lessened when she stopped at Sylvia’s stereo, calling to Giles over her shoulder.  
  
“I don’t feel like training anymore.” There was a moment of silence before an exasperated sigh, and Giles twisted around in his chair to get a better view of her.  
  
“What, exactly, are you doing?”  
  
In his mind’s eye, he could see her eye-roll quite well, though she was in the shadows and several feet away. “I’m trying to find some music.” He stood and joined her at the music cabinet. Looking suddenly shy, her face a tangled mix of vulnerability and what looked to Giles’ untrained eye strangely like desire, Buffy faced him with an awkward smile.  
  
“We didn’t end our last dance on exactly the best terms the other night. And I thought…” She shrugged. “I thought maybe we could try it again.” She sighed again, gesturing toward the cabinet with some irritation. “But all Sylvia’s got is chants and rainforests – it’s not exactly a great selection for shaking the groove thing.”  
  
Giles cleared his throat, a prim smile on his face as he pushed past her and delved further into Sylvia’s collection.  
  
“I can assure you that I have never, even in my Ripper days, 'shaken my groove thing,' as you so blithely put it.” He looked over his shoulder at her briefly. “I'm not even certain what a 'groove thing' is. But if you’re after a dance, I imagine Syl has something appropriate stashed.”  
  
Just as he’d suspected, Giles came up triumphant. Staring at the CDs he’d found at the back of the shelf, he wavered for a moment before finally taking a breath and resolutely making the choice. Odds were, it wouldn’t mean the first thing to Buffy anyway, but… Well, if she wanted to dance, he’d be damned if he’d just throw the opportunity away.  
  
As soon as the first strains began, she stared at him in open disbelief.  
  
“What’s this?”  
  
“Roxy Music. A band I’ve quite enjoyed over the years… They were rather popular in the seventies and eighties. And the lead singer just came out with a new collection.”  
  
“Giles – _I_ know who it is. But… you like Bryan Ferry?”  
  
“Of course. His music’s quite… soothing.”  
  
She rolled her eyes. “'Soothing' is totally not the word I’d use. Why don’t you just put in Barry White and get it over with?” She paused, studying him before taking a step closer, her voice just a trifle breathier than usual when she continued.  
  
“Giles, this is what the kids call _mood_ music.”  
  
The corner of his mouth twitched in a dry half-smile. He looked at her wisely, gauging her reaction.  
  
“Is it? Well, perhaps we should change it.”  
  
He took a false step toward the stereo, testing her, and was pleased – and utterly confounded – when Buffy stopped him with a hand on his arm.  
  
“No – leave it. If you’re up for it, I’m in.”  
  
He nodded once more, willing himself to maintain eye contact when he spoke. “I’m up. Shall we?”  
  
***  
  


Giles pulled Buffy to him, and she felt like she’d just turned to liquid from the inside out. If Riley’s arms had been good arms to have, Giles were totally cosmic. Bryan Ferry crooned on, and Buffy moved her hips against Giles in response to the music. Unlike other men she’d danced with, he didn’t try to follow her, or make with any ultra-cool moves himself. Instead, his movements were fluid, elegantly masculine. He pressed her tighter against him with a hand at the small of her back, mimicking her movements subtly with his own.  
  
When he spoke, Buffy kind of lost herself in the rumble low in his chest, where her head was resting lightly. There was a smell about Giles that she’d always loved, a mix of things that somewhere along the line had come to mean home to her: tea, and books, and… well, Giles. After he left her the first time, just after she’d dug herself out of her own grave, Buffy had gone to the Sunnydale mall and tested every cologne there one afternoon - trying to find something that would bring him back, even for a few minutes. But there wasn’t anything that captured that Gilesness that her life was missing. It was the first time she’d really understood that you could be homesick for a person.  
  
Giles cleared his throat to get her attention. She blushed, looking up at him with a smile that she hoped didn’t look as goofy as it felt.  
  
“You’re too tall – I can’t hear you in that other time zone up there.”  
  
He leaned down until his mouth was at her ear, and Buffy’s heart went from the Bryan Ferry lambada straight to the Texas two-step when she felt his warm breath on her skin.  
  
“I said: I’ve been warned about your powers on the dance floor, but I never believed I’d be experiencing them firsthand.”  
  
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, god – you heard about that, too? It was one song – you’d think I gave him a lap dance. Did Xander tell you?”  
  
He shook his head. “No, actually – Willow. If I remember correctly, she dripped Heavenly Hash ice cream on my demon anthology in the resulting…’mope-a-thon,’ I believe she called it.”  
  
Before he’d even gotten the whole sentence out, the music stopped for her. There was this part of her – a really big part, actually – that was screaming for her to just let it go. Enjoy the dance. See where it went…

Except that she knew, of course, where it would go. Where it always went: they would be safe and her job would be done, and Giles would move on. That was the m.o., with them – she was his Slayer, right? And when she wasn’t slaying and he wasn’t watching… Well, there wasn’t much point in them being together. Not like with the others.  
  
**

Giles wasn’t entirely certain what he’d hoped to achieve with the comment, but the sudden withdrawal that resulted once the words were out was definitely not his goal. Buffy took a step back, disengaging herself from him completely. The music played on, but she was no longer moving. Instead, she studied him intently for a long moment before he finally prompted her.  
  
“What is it, Buffy?”  
  
There was a flash of vulnerability in her eyes, to be replaced a moment later by genuine curiosity. “You and Willow – you were always pretty close, huh?”  
  
Frankly baffled at the question, he nodded. “Y – yes, I suppose we were. We had a great deal in common.”  
  
“Sure – with the books and the magick and the brains and all,” Buffy quipped, refusing to meet his eye as she sat down on the sofa. Giles turned the music down and gently motioned Moon back to the floor so that he could sit beside her. Once he was seated at her side, he placed a finger beneath her chin and forced her to look at him.  
  
“Buffy, what is all this about? You know that I care very deeply for you.”  
  
She nodded, her eyes suddenly glassy with tears. “Right. You care, but…”  
  
“But what?”  
  
She sighed, looking away in frustration before finally summoning the courage to continue in a rush. “Giles, what am I to you? You and Willow – you started out as teacher and student, but it was always more than that. Like – like she was really your friend, even when we were kids. But you and me…”  
  
The tears fell now; Giles watched them track a crystal path down her lovely cheeks, at a loss. She roughly brushed them away, continuing brokenly.  
  
“You came running when she needed you. You took her home with you, took care of her… I know you didn’t want to be my father, or even my Watcher in the end – ” She curled her knees into her chest, looking suddenly terribly, terribly small. “But would it have been so horrible if we were friends? I mean – God, you even pal around with Xander like you guys are old college roomies.”  
  
She looked at him squarely, pulling herself together now that the worst was out. “What is it about me that makes you want to turn tail and leave the Western hemisphere the minute you get the chance?”  
  
“Buffy, the men in your life – ”  
  
She shook her head violently. “I’m not talking about the men in my life, Giles. I’m talking about _you.”_  
  
The words slapped Giles in the face. He stiffened, looking away with a pained smile. “And there we have the problem, in the proverbial nutshell.”  
  
Confusion clouded her eyes for a moment before understanding dawned. “No – Giles, that’s not what I meant. I know you’re a man…” She sighed heavily. “Geez Louise, do I know you’re a man.”  
  
He looked up at the words and she blushed, lowering her eyes. After a moment’s silence, he swallowed with some difficulty, trying not to appear overly anxious.  
  
“I – I suppose I do have some things to answer for, in my treatment of you. My duties as Watcher – ”  
  
She stood abruptly, erupting from the sofa so violently that Moon scrambled to his feet and moved to the far corner of the room.  
  
“Giles, I don’t care about that, okay? Screw the whole Watcher thing – we were never just Watcher and Slayer and you know it. Hell, even Travers knew it.”  
  
“Bloody pillock,” Giles growled under his breath. Buffy smiled despite herself, at his words.  
  
“I’m right there with you on that, and – okay, yeah, he had the whole father-daughter thing way off. But there was a time there when we were actually friends, wasn’t there?” She stared at him, searching his face for answers he wasn’t entirely sure he was prepared to give.  
  
Taking a breath, he forced himself to speak. It wasn’t fair – he knew that. She had to know the truth.  
  
“Buffy – I know that those last two or three years in Sunnydale, I wasn’t there for you. I – I tried to justify my actions, to tell myself that I was only doing what was best for you. But the truth was – ”  
  
He paused, removing his glasses to begin polishing them. Buffy sat beside him once again, gently taking the glasses from his hand and setting them on the end table.  
  
“Giles,” she whispered. “Please – just tell me. What did I do?”  
  
Shaking his head violently, he sighed. “God, this is absurd. Of course, you did nothing; you looked to me for guidance, and I could see nothing but my own –”  
  
Before he could get the words out, a blinding flash rocked the inside of Giles’ skull suddenly, a deafening rush filling his ears as though there’d been an explosion somewhere in the recesses of his own mind. He gasped at the pain, raising a hand to his forehead as he fell from the sofa onto his knees on the floor. There was a voice – and then more bursts of light, faster and more violent than before, and then he felt Sylvia… felt her pain in a shattering blow to the back of his skull, before everything went quiet. A moment of perfect stillness followed, in which Giles had an opportunity to look up and find Buffy kneeling beside him on the floor, her eyes wide with terror. Before he could say anything, however, there was another explosion within – this one worse than the first – and he felt rather than heard his own scream wrenched from somewhere deep before his world went black.  
  



	13. Chapter 13

Rupert had warned her, of course.  
  
Somewhat vehemently, in point of fact.  
  
He’d warned her of the dangers of confronting Ethan; had gone on quite exhaustively about the singular dedication to chaos that marked Ethan Rayne’s character. But there wasn’t really much point in him elaborating, if truth were told – after all, the man had taken her only brother. Sylvia knew quite well what Ethan was capable of, and had known it well before Rupert himself had.  
  
In the end, her old friend had only agreed when she’d allowed the cerebral bonding – something she’d only experienced with Loren in the past. It had been uncomfortable enough having her husband roaming around in her own mind; allowing a childhood chum access to all those secret corridors and dirty corners was another thing entirely.  
  
“I’ll only go where I’m invited,” he’d promised solemnly.  
  
Those lovely jade eyes were her undoing, of course – just like they’d always been. Suddenly she was a girl of seven again, with Randall and Rupert guaranteeing her safety as they explored the English countryside. Even then, Randall had always pushed, cajoled; Rupert need only offer her the confidence-inspiring start of a smile, and she would have followed him anywhere. She still believed, forty years later, that if she hadn’t been so utterly mesmerized by Rupert Giles as a child, she never would have fallen for Loren Caswell as an adult.  
  
But this time, Rupert’s eyes were anything but confidence-inspiring when he sent her on her way. Though he’d promised to venture only where he’d been invited, they both knew quite well that cerebral bonding didn’t work like that. It was rather like inviting someone into your home: No matter how tidy you might try to be, there was still bound to be a stray stocking hanging out of the hamper, a layer of dust above the mantle.  
  
Once they’d merged and she was preparing to go, he’d taken her aside once more.  
  
“Are you sure about this?”  
  
She’d sighed. “Rupert, really – I’m not going to do battle with the man. I’m merely going to find him. You said yourself, the level of concentration it would take for him to maintain such a strong presence in your friend’s mind must mean he’s been rendered unconscious. I’ll find his body, alert you, and you and Buffy can take over from there. I’ll be fine.”  
  
Rupert nodded, and she’d seen – felt through the bond, actually – all that he wanted to say. That blessed British propriety kept him from voicing what he’d realized as soon as they’d bonded, but she could tell that he’d sensed it nevertheless:  
  
She didn’t want to be fine.  
  
As a matter of fact, she didn’t want to _be_ at all. Nearly two years had passed since Loren had died in the explosion that had destroyed the Watcher’s Council. Two years, in which Sylvia had done what every proper young widow should – she’d gone on. Mourned, yes. But kept her chin up; gotten up every morning and made herself pretty for a world in which she no longer had a vested interest. She worked her magicks, played bridge every Thursday evening, walked Moon…  
  
And she did all of it alone. There was supposed to be a sense of peace – isn’t that what she’d always been told? There was supposed to be some spiritual tie, some greater knowing that allowed her to continue, with the belief that Loren was in a better place. That, one day, they would be reunited in that place.  
  
But there was nothing. One moment he was there, and the next he was not. He was pieces; he was dust. Sylvia believed in magicks because she’d seen it work, had felt its power move through her – it was as tangible to her as Loren had once been. But death… If death was the enemy, a faceless presence that stole those she loved and left her increasingly vacant as a result – well, she would enjoy that final irony as any self-respecting Brit would. She would find solace in merging with that vast nothingness herself.  
  
But not before she found Ethan Rayne, of course, and forced him to give Buffy and Rupert back their lives. She’d spent the bulk of the day on an endless walking tour of London, checking the contacts she and Loren had established in his work. At every new door, there was another face from her past – many of them widows who’d lost their own husbands in the explosion. They all offered kind words about Loren, expressed polite inquiries as to her health… but otherwise, most were singularly unhelpful in her quest.  
  
It wasn’t until nearly six that evening, as a cold drizzle was beginning to fall, that she went to the address Rupert had given her on the West End. She watched the flat from across the street for a few minutes, standing beneath the awning of an old shop she remembered from her youth. It wasn’t the best neighborhood – she was sure Rupert could afford better, but the idea that he was too sentimental to stray from old haunts was strangely reassuring. Loren had been the same way; it was the reason they remained in a cramped house all those years despite his stature and the subsequently respectable salary at the Council.  
  
Just as Rupert had predicted, at half past six the young man whose picture Buffy had shown Sylvia earlier that day stepped from the flat out into the rain. He wore a trench coat to the knees, the collar up at his neck. Nothing beyond that to protect him from the elements, and Sylvia suddenly had the strangest desire to go to him, offer him her umbrella. He had a sort of beaten look about him – someone who’d become so accustomed to random downpours that he no longer took notice of soaked skin or chilled bones. And certainly no longer expected someone else to step in and provide any shelter… The eye patch was readily visible even across the street, setting him apart in a way to which she didn’t believe he was yet reconciled.  
  
It depressed her suddenly to think that Ethan – or anyone – would prey on such a boy. But she followed Rupert’s instructions, waiting until Xander had disappeared around the corner before dashing across the street and sounding the buzzer at the front door.  
  
A girl’s voice came over the intercom, crackling with static.  
  
“I knew you’d be back.”  
  
Sylvia was silent for a moment, puzzled at the response, before the voice returned. “Xander?”  
  
The Englishwoman cleared her throat, stepping forward and pressing the button before speaking into the intercom.  
  
“I’m sorry – I’m looking for Dawn Summers?”  
  
A pause. “I’m Dawn Summers. If you’re with the press, I don’t know anything.”  
  
This wasn’t going well. Sylvia shook her head, hoping against hope that Buffy had been right about the effectiveness of the message she’d provided.  
  
“I’m not… With the press, that is. I needed to speak with you, about a matter concerning a Mr. FP Gordo.”  
  
Another pause, this one longer than the first, before another woman’s voice came over the speaker.  
  
“We were just on our way out for dinner – can you come with?”  
  
Sylvia sighed in relief, nodding vigorously before she realized that there was no camera there to detect the movement.  
  
“Yes, of course – that would be fine. Where shall we meet?”  
  
* * * * *  
  
A few moments later, three young people stepped into the busy pub to which Sylvia had been directed. The redhead was recognizable from the picture Buffy had shown earlier in the day, though her hair was shorter and she looked considerably matured from the carefree child grinning for the camera just a few years before. At her side were a tall, striking girl – Buffy’s sister, Sylvia imagined – and a blonde-haired young man who spied Sylvia and stared at her with a mix between speculation and open hostility.  
  
She felt dowdy, perhaps for the first time in her life. Clothed in slacks and sweater, her short dark hair a bit shaggy from going too long without a cut… Despite the horrors they’d seen, the young people that joined her at her table were vibrant, just a bit breathless with excitement. There had been a time when she was this energized by the chase – sitting there confronted suddenly with what she’d lost, the yearning for Loren and the past that they’d shared was nearly crippling. She managed a polite smile as Buffy’s sister took the stool beside her.  
  
“What do you know?”  
  
The boy placed a restraining hand on the girl’s arm, shaking his head authoritatively.  
  
“I’ll handle this, Dawn.” He cleared his throat, looking at Sylvia with a gravity so intense it was laughable. “All right, who sent you? And don’t try to squirm out of this one, because you’re surrounded.”  
  
The redhead impatiently pushed him out of the seat he’d taken and took it herself, so that Sylvia was now flanked on either side by the two girls. There was something comforting, a level of experience that was familiar to Sylvia, in the older girl’s eyes – she studied Sylvia for a long moment before seeming to come to a conclusion.  
  
“Giles sent you?”  
  
Sylvia nodded. The younger two of the trio were clearly unconvinced, and the boy resumed his assault.  
  
“What does FP stand for?”  
  
The older woman smiled at this. “Favorite Pig.”  
  
Dawn let out a quick, unsteady breath of relief, and Sylvia was moved to see tears flood the girl’s pretty eyes.  
  
“They’re really okay?”  
  
“They are. Terribly sorry that they couldn’t tell you all sooner – but they’re both safe.”  
  
“And why should we believe you?” the boy intoned imperiously, all but coming across the table to reach her. Dawn put her hand over his, a gesture that seemed to be one of reassurance until Sylvia realized that she had his fingers in something of a death grip.  
  
“Cut it out, Andrew,” the girl whispered threateningly.  
  
He whimpered quietly, pulling his hand back when she finally let go, and retreated to his seat at the table to listen sullenly for the remainder of the evening.  
  
“What happened at the dance? Does Buffy have the amulet?” The redhead this time, glancing nervously over her shoulder before asking the questions.  
  
Sylvia shook her head, going quickly over the details Rupert had instructed her to provide. They were few, to be sure.  
  
“I’m not entirely sure of all that – I know only that they’re both safe, and innocent, and I was to pass that on.” She cleared her throat, considering her next words carefully. “Rupert also wanted me to tell you that right now you need to mind what you say in front of your friend Xander.”  
  
All three reacted in horror, Dawn shaking her head in disbelief. “What the hell are you talking about?”  
  
“You must believe me – Xander will be all right, Rupert will find a way to fix this. But right now, none of you are safe in his presence. Has he been complaining of headaches? Or losing consciousness, having unexplained time lapses?”  
  
Both Andrew and Willow looked immediately to Dawn, who returned their glances in surprise. “What? How should I know?”  
  
“You’re the one he spends the most time with,” Andrew said with the faintest hint of territorialism – though over Dawn or Xander, Sylvia couldn’t have said.  
  
The younger girl thought seriously for a moment before nodding. “He has had a lot of headaches lately. And the other night at the police station, he almost passed out. Plus he was all weird at the dance – but we thought it was because of his eye. I told him he should go get it checked; that maybe it was the strain of just using the one.”  
  
Sylvia considered this for a moment before responding with a terse nod. “That may actually be for the best – as long as he believes that’s what’s wrong, he won’t be likely to panic.”  
  
Andrew and Dawn resumed a stricken silence, but Sylvia noted that Willow seemed to reconcile to the news far more quickly than the others.  
  
“You knew there was something wrong with him?”  
  
The redhead crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes filling as she swallowed back tears. “I… I thought I sensed something. Felt something, the other night. But then…” she shrugged. “Sometimes my energy gets kinda floopy and I’m not sure if it’s just me or if there’s really something wonky...” The girl lowered her eyes, the silence speaking volumes. Sylvia nodded understandingly.  
  
“Ah, floopy energy… I’m well-versed, myself. Please believe me when I say that Rupert has this well in hand. We’re doing everything possible to ensure this is resolved as quickly as possible. But in the meantime, if you could refrain from telling Xander of my visit, that would be for the best.”  
  
There was silence ‘round the table until finally Dawn seemed to gather her courage enough to ask the question that had been on her mind.  
  
“So, he’s like…possessed? And he has been, ever since we came from Rome?”  
  
Sylvia smiled, reaching across the table to lay a soothing hand on the girl’s. “Buffy and Rupert both asked that I make sure that you understand… He has been acting of his own volition with only minor exceptions, for the majority of your stay, and Rupert believes that will continue to be the case. Any interest he has shown in you, Dawn, is entirely his doing.”  
  
Dawn grinned widely, lowering her eyes as a flush climbed her cheeks. “So, you’re saying Buffy’s fine, Giles is good, and even though Xander’s a little schizoid right now, he still likes me?”  
  
“In a nutshell, I suppose I am.”  
  
“Looks like this day just got a little better, huh Dawnie?” Willow nudged the younger girl, who nodded happily.  
  
Sylvia glanced at her watch, noting the time uneasily. “I’m glad I could brighten things a bit, but I’m afraid I’d best be leaving. Your friend’s meeting is only until half-past-seven, isn’t that right?”  
  
Andrew nodded, still looking a bit put out. “How did you know about that? – that’s supposed to be a top-secret Watcher’s Council thing. Seems to me like Mr. Giles is telling strangers an awful lot about our business.”  
  
“She’s not a stranger, Andrew,” Willow said quietly. “And I think maybe she’s had a lot more to do with the Council than we have, for a lot longer.”  
  
“You’re very perceptive.”  
  
“She’s an uber-witch,” Andrew noted, a hint of pride in his voice. Willow rolled her eyes.  
  
“He’s a little delusional.”  
  
At this, Sylvia laughed aloud as she got up from her chair. “I expect that may be true – but I also expect his first comment is quite valid.” Willow blushed, her face a strange mix of pride and what looked remarkably like shame. Before any of them could continue, however, Sylvia noted the way Dawn’s eyes widened and fixed on the door to the pub.  
  
The rest of the group turned as one, and a cold, clear dread filled the Englishwoman when she saw the young man from Buffy’s picture walk through the door. Willow stood quickly, blocking Sylvia’s body from view so that she might have a chance to escape out the back way, but Xander had fixed on them immediately upon walking through the door. With his good eye firmly on the stranger, his mouth set in a grim line, he hurried across the pub to their table.  
  
“You mind telling me what the hell’s going on?” he asked tersely, directing the question to Willow.  
  
Sylvia froze, trying to decide whether to make a dash for the door or simply stand and fight. The others were equally silent, until – incredibly – Andrew cleared his throat, managing to sound impressively calm.  
  
“What’s the sitch, Xan-Man?”  
  
Xander glared at the boy until Andrew added quietly, “Sorry – Xander.”  
  
Dawn added just a bit too brightly, “Yeah, Xan – you look like you’re about to commit one of the seven deadlies. What’s up?”  
  
Another weighted silence fell over the table before Xander seemed to notice that they were not alone. His gaze fell on Sylvia and she stood once more, having returned to her seat a moment before.  
  
“I should probably get back, but it was nice to meet you all.”  
  
Xander looked at her suspiciously, but thankfully seemed too intent on his own news to worry about a stranger in their midst. The others exchanged quick goodbyes, and Sylvia took her time making her way across the pub, straining to hear whatever it was Xander was telling them.  
  
From what she could ascertain, the boy was upset because the regular Watcher’s meeting had been changed without his notification – he was concerned that in Rupert’s absence, others in the Council were planning a coup of some kind. There were other things that she couldn’t hear over a rising din, and then the pub quieted and just before she reached the door, she heard Xander say something about a nest of vampires gathered at a tomb on the other side of town.  
  
The coup was certainly not a surprise – it was typical of the Council, as a matter of fact. Despite being infused with younger blood since the explosion, they were still of old stock, notoriously prone to infighting and petty bickering. Rupert had best prove his innocence quickly, or he’d most certainly find himself out of a job. Navigating through the streets of London, shivering slightly in the cold rain, she considered what her best next move might be. After a moment’s thought, she decided to take a room in a moderately-priced hotel; settle in for a good soak in a hot bath, contact Rupert and Buffy, and decide from there where to go next.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Sylvia had just finished supper and was preparing her bath when the realization of what Xander had actually said finally sunk in. Perusing the daily paper, she noted an article regarding an incident of apparent vandalism that had taken place at the same tomb she supposed Xander had been speaking of earlier. As she scanned the article, a single line stopped her:  
  
“The tomb, built in 1865, is the original burial chamber of the highly decorated British commander William Rayne.” The article went on to state that nothing had been taken from the tomb and no one was harmed, though it did appear that someone had broken in. A policeman who had attended the scene was quoted as saying it looked suspiciously as though the crypt housing the body itself was the only thing disturbed, though that was impossible since the lock appeared to still be intact.  
  
The instant she saw the name William Rayne, she knew it had to be Ethan. Knowing what she did of him from Rupert and Randall, she was certain he would never be able to stick completely to the shadows, insisting that there be some flair to his plan. And hiding in the crypt of a highly decorated ancestor was just Ethan’s kind of flair. As he was after the gem of Imara, the nest of vampires Xander had mentioned were undoubtedly there to protect Ethan’s body until the gem had been recovered.  
  
It was just after ten o’clock when Sylvia crept out of her hotel room and bent her head into a blinding downpour the likes of which she’d rarely seen before. The streets were empty, eerily silent but for the rain upon the pavement. Her umbrella was scarcely a defense against the elements, but she continued on regardless. She considered contacting Rupert to let him know where she was going, but realized that he would only try to stop her. It was better if she simply went on her own, determined whether or not her theory was correct, and then reported back at that point.  
  
Her heart was pounding, the blood warm in her veins despite the chill in the air. She had a mission. A destiny. It didn’t matter what happened in the end, it only mattered that in this moment, she had a role that she actually cared to fulfill. It had been a very long time since that had been the case.


	14. Chapter 14

“They’re a bunch of backstabbing British sissies is what they are.”  
  
Dawn exchanged a concerned glance with Willow, who just shrugged. They were back at Giles’ apartment, and she couldn’t figure out if the way Xander was freaking out was from that whole possession thing Giles’s lady friend had warned them about, or if he really felt this way. Maybe it was both.  
  
Willow nodded solemnly. “They don’t exactly give me the UK warm and fuzzies, that’s for sure.”  
  
“Don’t blame England,” Andrew interrupted. “Just because we got a bad crop in the Council doesn’t mean England didn’t give us some of the things that make America great. Jude Law, Hugh Grant, the Beatles, London Fog, 007 – ”  
  
“That crazy zombie movie you took me to,” Dawn added quickly.  
  
Andrew looked stumped for a minute. “Which one?”  
  
“You know – like the Sandra Bullock movie only it’s not about rehab… With the monkeys and the extreme nudity.”  
  
“Twenty-Eight Days Later,” Xander noted, getting caught up for just a minute before he remembered that he was still pissed about the Council revolt.  
  
“The Sex Pistols,” Andrew continued.  
  
Dawn rolled her eyes. “I bet you’ve never even heard a real Sex Pistols song.”  
  
“Have too. One time, me and Spike were hanging out, and we listened to a whole album.”  
  
“Please – Spike could totally never handle spending that much time with you.”  
  
He paused before finally confessing. “Okay, so it wasn’t the whole album. But a whole song.” Another pause, Dawn staring him down knowingly before he sighed. “All right, it was one verse of God Save the Queen and I said I bet it would be a really cool video if Ryan Seacrest did a cover of it but made it into like an anthem…” Andrew got that dreamy look for a minute, before coming to and finishing hurriedly. “Then Spike got kind of excited and said he was gonna throw me through a window. So I left.”  
  
“Uh – guys,” Willow cleared her throat significantly, glancing toward Xander, who was pacing Giles’ apartment now. “Maybe we could have this conversation some other time?” She turned to Xander. “Are you sure you’re okay, Xan?”  
  
He wheeled around, frustrated. “Will everybody stop asking me that? I’m fine – I’m just worried. And still not totally clear on why you guys aren’t right there with me on that; it’s been three days and no word.” He looked at Dawn and she shifted uncomfortably on Giles’ couch, swallowing her uneasiness at the way he seemed to see right through her. “I mean, Dawn, this afternoon you were about out of your gourd… It's good to know you guys have this weird seventy-two hour-attention span thing goin' for you – I’ll make sure if I’m ever missing, I get back before you totally forget I ever existed.”  
  
He stormed out of the room and up the stairs. Dawn waited a minute before resolutely standing, trying to ignore the way Andrew was watching her or the way her stomach was gurgling like she’d just popped an Alka Seltzer or something. Following him upstairs, she found Xander leaning against the wall in the hallway, staring at his bedroom door like maybe he could open it if he looked at it hard enough. That lady had said Xander was still Xander, right? – just not all the way. She swallowed a big lump of nerves, and took his hand. He blinked a couple of times like he expected to wake up from a dream, and Dawn thought about how pretty his eyelashes were before she finally came up with something to say.  
  
“It’s gonna be all right, okay? I just… I don’t know how I know – I just have a feeling. Wherever they are, I just…feel like they’re safe.”  
  
There was a long minute of silence, where he just looked at her with that way he had.  
  
“How do you do that?” he asked softly.  
  
“Do what?”  
  
He thought for a minute more, trying to find the words, before he shrugged shyly. “I don’t know… Make me feel like everything's okay - like I’m home. Not Sunnydale, not the mind-numbing hell that was the Harris family dinner, but…home, like a place I’d always want to come back to.”  
  
Dawn blinked back unexpected tears, fixing her gaze on his hand while she tried to pull herself back together.  
  
“Oh, god – I’m sorry,” he said quickly, totally horrified when he realized she was crying. “I didn’t mean… I meant it in a good way.”  
  
She nodded quickly. “Well, yeah – I mean, that’s not exactly the kind of thing you can take in a bad way, Xander.” She sniffled, rolling her eyes as she rubbed at them with the heels of her hands. “I think that’s the nicest thing anybody’s ever said to me.” She smiled, taking it back after a minute. “Except that thing you said before we left Sunnydale, about how I was, you know,” she blushed, looking away, “extraordinary and stuff.”  
  
He grinned, stepping closer to her so that she could feel the heat coming off him, and ran a hand over her hair before he cupped her chin in his palm, tilting her head up so she was looking directly at him.  
  
“Still true, y’know. You’re all that.”  
  
There was another second where nobody said anything, and Dawn wasn’t quite breathing, and was debating on whether she should close her eyes and wait for Xander to move in or whether she should keep her eyes open and do the moving in herself. And then, if she _did_ do the moving in, should it be a fast, unsure kiss, or should it be one of those swooping-in Hollywood kisses, and then she started thinking about which movies had the girl making the first move… Which led her to a whole random tangent about how there should be more girl-first-move movies, and by the time she came back to the whole question of the kiss, Andrew was racing up the stairs and she and Xander sprang apart like they’d been about to do something a lot sexier than just kiss.  
  
“Hey,” Andrew said breathlessly.  
  
Dawn glared at him impatiently. “What?”  
  
“Black Adder.”  
  
“Excuse me?” Xander asked. He was leaning against the opposite wall from Dawn, not quite looking at her but not quite looking away, either.  
  
“Things from England. Black Adder – I almost forgot.”  
  
She couldn’t help it – the combination of all the stress of the past few days and how serious Andrew looked and the fact that she and Xander (who was maybe possessed but nobody could seem to tell her what that meant, exactly) had just finally, almost kissed… It was all just too much. Dawn cracked up, starting with little giggles that soon turned to bigger giggles at the total confusion on the boys’ faces. Then Willow came upstairs and, of course, Willow always got the giggles when other people had them. So she started laughing, and pretty soon the two of them were rolling on the ground in the hallway while Andrew tried not to laugh himself, but he gave that up when Xander finally cracked. For a good fifteen minutes, all four of them rolled around on Giles’ hallway floor in hysterics, laughing like old times, and not one of them had a clue just how much trouble was gonna go down before the night was out.  
  
After a while, they wore themselves out. Willow, Dawn, and Andrew went back downstairs to watch TV before bed, but Xander said he was too tired. Dawn watched him disappear behind his bedroom door with a mix of disappointment and concern, but shrugged it off. Buffy and Giles were okay – that meant they could do the puzzling. Besides, Black Adder was on.  
  
About an hour later, the remaining three Scoobies had fallen asleep in front of the television. Somewhere in the back of her brain, Dawn thought she heard someone leaving the apartment, but she was so cozy curled up beside Willow on the couch that she couldn’t quite tear herself away. Forcing her eyes open to glance at the clock, she noted that it wasn't even ten o'clock yet. She stifled a yawn, considered getting up one more time, and then promptly fell back into a deep, deep sleep.  
  



	15. Chapter 15

Sylvia stood in the rain across from the tomb for a solid five minutes, shivering from a combination of cold and stark terror, before she finally got the nerve to cross the street and go in. There was no one about that she could see, vampire or otherwise. Outside the cold stone building, she waited a moment more before going to the gate and peering through the bars to the inside.  
  
With the noise of the rain, she didn’t hear his footsteps behind her. Her hands were clasped around the bars of the gate, her gaze intent as she tried to make out the vague shapes inside the building with the aid of nothing but random streetlights. It wasn’t until he was nearly upon her that she felt the cold transform from a mere physical discomfort to a blinding freeze inside her own mind. Before she could react, a hand grasped her roughly at the back of her neck, forcing her head into the gate until her face was wedged between two of the bars. He moved behind her, pressing his body against her own, his breath hot in her ear.  
  
He sniffed theatrically, caressing first her ear and then down her neck before returning to whisper with a strangely sensual lilt, “I smell Ripper.”  
  
In her periphery, she could see that it was the boy – Xander – that held her. The look on his face was completely foreign, however, from the one she had seen earlier that evening. His brown eye was strangely vacant, vague; the patch over the other was flipped up, gleaming, and she cringed as he pulled her backward easily, wresting her arms behind her back before whistling softly into the night. Instantly, two vampires appeared from within the tomb, opening the gate and stepping aside to let their leader enter.  
  
A moment later, they were inside the crypt itself – a dummy lock had been left at the iron door leading inside so that it would appear to authorities that it hadn’t been disturbed, but that fell away easily. The crypt was dismal and dank, lit by torches, and Sylvia could detect the trace of an outline lying in the far corner of the small room. Ethan’s body, undoubtedly. If she could just –  
  
“Now, now – that hardly seems the way to treat a man who can’t defend himself.”  
  
He twisted her hands – still at her back – slightly, forcing her to her knees, then crouched beside her, his voice a menacing lilt as he continued.  
  
“I don’t believe I know you – though you look familiar, somehow. It’s no matter, though, to be perfectly honest… Lovely as you seem, I’d rather that Ripper came out to play for a bit, if it’s all the same to you.”  
  
She didn’t respond, all too aware of how badly she was shaking. She would love to come up with some clever, off-the-cuff insult, but it seemed highly unlikely that her voice would work at all at this point. Instead, she settled for what she hoped appeared to be an indifferent silence.  
  
Ethan/Xander sighed dramatically. “I know you're there, Ripper. Your friend has cloaked herself quite convincingly, but… Well, I’ve always been able to sense you. You know that. Too many times with me buried far too deep inside you – that won’t just go away, I’m afraid.”  
  
Sylvia ignored the references, knowing that if she let him get inside her head, there was no way she could protect Rupert from this. It had been a trap – stupid of her, really, not to recognize that. But she’d be damned if she’d let Rupert pay for her ignorance.  
  
They went on like this for what might have been as much as half an hour before he began to lose his patience. He paced, cursed, and cajoled, then finally resorted to violence, slapping her until he’d drawn blood. All the while, the vampires circled ever closer. Sylvia sensed their need, felt the trembling anticipation going through them in waves at the smell of fresh blood, but she remained silent.  
  
Finally, Ethan returned to her side, his hand clenched brutally around the back of her neck, squeezing tightly. “If you won’t let me in the easy way,” he whispered savagely, all pretense at civility gone now, “then there are other ways. I’ll go in after him.”  
  
Her stomach lurched, a sudden rush of terror burning through her at the sound of a drill whirring at her ear.  
  
“Come now, Ripper,” Ethan sang softly before pressing the drill bit into the base of her skull. “I’m not a neurosurgeon,” he whispered, practically giggling with glee. “But this can't honestly be that hard, can it? Come out, come out wherever you are.”  
  
Sylvia closed her eyes to the blinding pain, hot tears burning down her frozen cheeks, and prayed for darkness.  
  
* * * * *  
  
“Where in bloody hell are we?”  
  
Giles blinked in the glare of the white light, trying to piece together what was happening. He waited a moment until his eyes had adjusted to the lights, and finally made out the form seated at a simple card table a few yards from him.  
  
“Sylvia? What's happened?”  
  
She smiled apologetically. “I don’t know how much time we have here – ”  
  
“And where is ‘here,’ exactly?” A blinding rush of pain bit into his skull and he fought back a scream, falling to his knees. “Christ – Sylvia?”  
  
Managing after a moment to look up, he realized that she was experiencing the same pain. Clarity struck so violently that the bile surged at his gullet, and he tried to calm his racing heart.  
  
“He has you?”  
  
“And he’s trying to get to you – I don’t know how much longer I can keep him out.”  
  
Giles went to her, focusing on the bruises surrounding his old friend’s lovely eyes, the blood running from one nostril and from a nasty cut at her forehead. He lay a hand softly at her head and was momentarily unnerved when his fingers floated through the image. She smiled.  
  
“Noncorporeal, of course. We’re just in my mind, Rupert.”  
  
“Of course – silly of me, really. He did this to you?”  
  
She nodded. “I tried to clean myself up a bit before I came for you, but…”  
  
He stared at her seriously, the gravity of the situation making his blood run cold. “But the pain’s too deep. I can feel it. He’s got you beaten – not just physically.”  
  
“I won’t let him have you,” she returned fiercely, and Giles thought suddenly of that strange, wild young girl he’d once known.  
  
“You won’t have to. Tell Ethan I’ll come – with the amulet.”  
  
She started to protest and Giles just turned to her with a soft flash of a smile. “It’s decided, Sylvia. I’ll find a way.” He paused regretfully, unsure of how to broach the next subject. She anticipated his next words, however, delivering the news so he wouldn't have to.   
  
“You’ll have to sever the bond," she said. "I know that. There's no way for you to be effective if you're crippled by this pain."   
  
He frowned, torn. “I won’t leave you here to die, Syl.” There was a long pause before he added, his eyes carefully on her own, “No matter how much you might wish I would.”  
  


A moment later, the bond was severed and Giles came crashing back to reality.  
  
Buffy was kneeling over him, tears wetting her cheeks. When he opened his eyes, her own widened in relief and she ran a hand gently over his forehead, brushing his hair back shakily.  
  
“Are you really back?”  
  
He took a moment to decide if he was indeed before nodding gingerly. “I’m sorry if I frightened you.”  
  
“Frightened me? I thought you were…” She swallowed, tears flowing freely now, and he remembered suddenly her mother’s death - the aneurysm that had taken Joyce. He sat up quickly, ignoring the pain that lingered from the severed bond, and pulled Buffy into his arms before she could put up yet another front.  
  
“I’m so sorry, Buffy. It was Sylvia – there’s a problem with Ethan. But I’m fine, I promise you.”  
  
She let herself be cradled in his embrace for a moment, snaking her arms around his middle and laying her head against his chest while he stroked her hair, whispering meaningless reassurances until she’d quieted. Finally, she took a breath and pulled back from him slightly.  
  
“You – you said there’s a problem with Sylvia?”  
  
Giles nodded gravely. “I’m afraid so. She found Ethan’s body, but now he has her.”  
  
“And that thing that just happened – that was the mind-meld thingy?”  
  
He rolled his eyes at the term, managing a small smile. “Yes, that was the mind-meld thingy. She’s alone there now – I had to sever the bond in order to ensure that Ethan wouldn’t have access to me.”  
  
Buffy stood, reaching down and offering her hand to Giles, who stood painfully. “And when you say Ethan, you mean…”  
  
“Xander – I’m afraid so. It seems Ethan’s been able to master him, at least for the moment.”  
  
“But now that we’re going there and we know where Ethan is, he’s not gonna need Xander anymore.”  
  
Giles shook his head grimly, and Buffy squared her shoulders, resolutely heading for the bedroom to gather her things.  
  
“So… We get there before anybody gets hurt. Kick Ethan’s ass from here to hell and back, do what we need to to keep the amulet safe, and then figure out how to clear our names.”  
  
He smiled grimly. “Sounds like we have something of an evening ahead of us.”  
  
“Sounds like. But you’re sure you’re really okay?” She looked at him with concern once more and he nodded reassuringly.  
  
“Positive. Bit of a headache perhaps, but I’ll be fine. Get your things – we should leave as quickly as possible.”  
  
She took a couple more steps toward the bedroom, then turned and paused before saying shyly, “Do you think… maybe when this is over, we could just have – I don’t know. Like,” she shrugged, “…a dinner. Dinner, and dancing, and a conversation that doesn’t end with anybody grabbing their head or bursting into tears?”  
  
He smiled with a soft nod. “I think we could manage that.” Wondering at the lightness that suddenly infused her step as she turned away once more, Giles took a breath and set to work devising a plan.  
  
* * * * *  
  
“He’s gone.”  
  
Sylvia’s voice came out barely a whisper, strained to her ears, the physical pain of Ethan’s torture at war with her own fury at her position. Coming to once more, she slowly regained a sense of her surroundings; the cold concrete beneath her knees, the darkness and damp chill of the crypt… Ethan, still inhabiting the boy Xander’s body, behind her. She closed her eyes once more, a solitude far deeper than flesh and blood all but consuming her. The fact of Rupert walking with her had been more comfort than she cared to admit. Now, alone once more, the reality of the situation was grim indeed.  
  
Ethan remained silent for a moment, but he did step away from her – he seemed to be testing the air before he finally spoke.   
  
“Yes, you’re right. He’s gone. But if I know Ripper, I suspect he'll be here soon enough. Never one to leave a damsel in distress.”  
  
He crouched beside her, his breath hot in her ear. Sylvia thought of her brother suddenly, feeling a hate so powerful it emptied her lungs of everything but the seething rage. Her brother, whose face she’d denied for so many years, was before her once more. Randall: the laughter in those eyes, the perpetual, rakish grin…  
  
She opened her eyes, sensing the fury that was now coloring the air around her. Meeting Ethan’s gaze, his malevolence seemed an unholy affront to the young man whose body he’d stolen. A sly grin spread.  
  
“Well… I nearly didn’t recognize you. Don’t believe we were ever formally introduced.” His gaze ran silkily over her battered body. “You’ve aged well – though I suppose this isn’t the best night to judge.”  
  
“You know me?”  
  
He stood, taking a step away from her, warier now. Seeming to sense the power of her mood.  
  
“I saw your picture on Randall’s dresser, back in those foolhardy days of yore. A pity about him, really. But I see he wasn’t the only one in the family with some rather dark gifts.”  
  
She looked away, struggling to control her emotions. The dangers of letting herself go were too real, and despite Ethan’s guilt, he remained housed for the moment in the body of an innocent.  
  
“I don’t know what you mean.”  
  
He laughed, the sound slick as rain-soaked pavement in the charged midnight air. “Don’t you, though? There’s an aura that’s boiling red ‘round you – quite impressive, really. I’d love to chat more about it, but I expect Ripper will be bringing his Slayer… Can’t really afford having a dark witch with vengeance on her mind tipping the scales.”  
  
He stood behind her once again. She twisted her head to see what he was up to, ignoring the pain of the wounds inflicted moments before. At the sound of the gun, the cold echo of the safety clicking off, she froze. Holding her breath, she waited.  
  
“I really am sorry about this – I must admit, murder is not my forte – ” He stopped abruptly. Sylvia continued to wait, her heart hammering in her chest, blood pounding in her ears. The silence continued for so long that she finally twisted around to see what was happening.  
  
Ethan cleared his throat. When he continued, his voice was less certain, laden with an internal struggle. One that had nothing to do with the immorality of his actions, Sylvia quickly realized, and everything to do with the host he had chosen.  
  
“I will make it quick – never was one to take pleasure in other’s suffering, necessarily. My agenda is really quite simple – ”  
  
She shut her eyelids tightly at the feel of the barrel of the gun pressed to her temple. An instant later, though, the weapon fell to the floor with the resounding crash of steel to concrete. Followed closely by Ethan/Xander, slumping to the ground.  
  



	16. Chapter 16

“Are you sure he’s gonna be okay alone?”  
  
Giles sighed, petting Moon one last time and ignoring the puppy-dog eyes coming from both Buffy and the hound.  
  
“Would you prefer we go into battle with him?”  
  
“I just hate leaving him here.” She pouted, just a bit – the slightest protrusion of her lower lip, and the thought raced unbidden through Giles’ mind, of how utterly delicious that lip would taste. Hardly the time for such thoughts and yet, there it was.  
  
“He’s gonna think we’re abandoning him.”  
  
“Buffy, you do recall the whole sacred-duty bit, don’t you? Because I’m not above dusting off that time-worn speech once more. There are larger things at stake here than whether or not we hurt the feelings of an overgrown mongrel.”  
  
It was her turn to sigh. She lingered over a final woolly hug for the dog, retrieved one last treat from the larder, and they were finally ready to go. Giles had found an impressive array of weapons in Loren’s former study; he and Buffy had armed themselves well, hoping to be as prepared as possible for whatever Ethan had in store. The amulet was around Buffy’s neck, the gem of Imara hidden beneath a sweater she’d borrowed from Sylvia’s closet.  
  
They were ready.  
  
Or so Giles hoped.  
  
* * * * *  
  
When Sylvia met his eyes once more, it was clear that Ethan was no longer present in Xander’s body. A baffled brown eye stared at her, the other eye exposed and unseeing.  
  
“What the hell – ”  
  
She shook her head quickly, hoping to silence him with her look. If she could keep the vampires protecting the crypt from coming, they might stand a chance of escape before Ethan came to in his own body. Xander got the message. Clamping his mouth shut at the urgency in her eyes, he glanced quickly around the strange room. Still on his knees beside a beaten, bloodied woman he didn’t recognize, he started further when his hand brushed the gun at his side.  
  
He lowered his voice, pushing the weapon carefully away with the tip of his finger. “Okay, I’m totally in touch with my inner Kesey now; can we go home? What the hell’s going on?”  
  
“There’s no time,” she whispered back. “He’ll wake up quickly – my guess is he’s set you free now. Gone back to his own body – ”  
  
“I’m sorry, but – huh? I’ve understood exactly zilch since waking up – ”  
  
Across the room, there was the sound of a soft moan. Sylvia felt her panic rising as she cut Xander off once more. “Please, there’s no time to explain. You have to untie me.”  
  
Whether it was the desperation in her voice or the sound of movement across the room, Xander finally seemed to come to himself and moved to free his companion. Taking note of her appearance, Sylvia felt unexpected tears well at the concern in the veritable stranger's voice.  
  
“Geez – Listen, are you all right?”  
  
Nodding blindly, she massaged her wrists once the bonds were loosed. Xander helped her to her feet, a surge of dizziness threatening to topple her before the boy tightened his hold on her arm. And then, across the room, it came to them both: a soft, silken laugh.  
  
“You’re stronger than I bargained, I must admit.”  
  
As soon as Ethan stepped from the shadows, Sylvia felt the tension mount in the boy by her side, though his voice remained admirably even.  
  
“Ethan Rayne.”  
  
Ethan strolled closer, whistling through his teeth for his vampire cohorts. “I don’t believe we’ve ever actually met.”  
  
Xander shrugged. “Yeah, well – Giles filled us in on the good old days.”  
  
“Did he now?” Ethan was practically purring now, as he moved in closer. “Somehow, I feel certain he left out a few details.” The man was now within only a couple of feet of them both, studying Xander curiously.  
  
“I must admit, it’s odd being on this side of the looking glass again. You seem so well-adjusted, on the outside looking in. But wander around in that guilt-ridden, sadly adolescent mind of yours for a day or two, and the truth is easy enough to find.”  
  
The confusion on Xander’s face was plain – he started to speak, but stopped when Ethan continued to stare. When the boy realized where Ethan’s focus lay, he slapped a hand quickly over his exposed eye. Face coloring in a rising blush, Xander fumbled the patch back where it belonged.  
  
“Such an ugly scar for such a pretty face,” Ethan taunted. “You really dare consider that a lovely young thing like the Slayer’s sister could love a man with a secret like that?” His smile spread like oil. “But you don’t really believe it, do you? You let yourself hope, in the weaker moments… But the truth is, you know your place. The failed carpenter. The man who attracts monsters; the broken boy who couldn’t even give a demon the life she deserved.”  
  
There was the sound of a door crashing closed, and a moment later, an unpleasantly familiar woman's voice sang through the darkness.  
  
“Tell me, Ethan, why is it that every time we meet, you’re babbling about something. Seems like we’re in kind of a rut – you yammer, I kick your ass, you slink off like the weasel you are for parts unknown. Seriously, don’t you ever feel the need to just enjoy the silence?”  
  
Ethan turned his head, still keeping an eye on Xander and Sylvia, to acknowledge Buffy and Giles’ entrance.  
  
“Ripper – finally. Really, old boy, you used to be so punctual. Now it takes days before I can catch up to you again.”  
  
Giles took in the scene: an empty crypt, Ethan seemingly unarmed, Sylvia and Xander just a few feet from him. It didn’t seem overwhelming odds – somehow, he didn’t trust appearances when it came to Ethan, however.  
  
“Yes, terribly sorry to keep you waiting,” Giles returned dryly. “We were running for our lives, struggling to survive, that sort of thing. All very tiresome, really.”  
  
Ethan nodded, attempting to appear casual as he whistled through his teeth once more. Buffy took a step forward, clapping her hands together in a gesture meant to brush the dust from them.  
  
“Workin’ on a happy tune, Ethan, or are you trying to get those pathetic vamp lackeys to come running?” She sighed, producing a stake from her bag and studying it with calculated nonchalance. “’Cause turns out they had an appointment with Mr. Pointy here, so… Looks like you’re on your own.”  
  
A flash of panic touched his face before he gathered himself together once more, and Giles had the uneasy feeling that this wouldn’t be nearly so simple as he had hoped. When a tint of black touched his old comrade’s eyes, he knew he was right. It was dim in the room, and Giles had completely missed the presence of the weapon on the floor of the crypt; in an instant, the gun had flown into Ethan’s hand and the man had somehow moved with lightning speed to Xander’s side. Pushing Sylvia away, Ethan wrapped his arm around the boy’s neck, pressing the barrel of the gun into his temple.  
  
“What the – ” Buffy turned to Giles in confusion. “Giles, what’s going on?”  
  
Giles kept his gaze locked carefully on Ethan’s. “Borrowed magicks, I’d expect. You never had this kind of power before.”  
  
“Let’s just say that my employer wants that amulet very badly. And he’s gone to some lengths to ensure I’m able to procure it for him. Now,” he nodded slightly toward Buffy, the assured smile returning to his face as he kept the gun trained on Xander. “Do us both a favor, won’t you, Ripper, and reach down the pretty slayer’s shirt and fetch that amulet for me.”  
  
Giles watched Xander's Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed with difficulty in Ethan's grasp, jaw tensed. “Don’t do it, Giles.”  
  
The Watcher sighed, making no move. “Ethan, really… Do you have any idea how many apocalypses I’ve averted? I know the price; if I let you have the amulet to save the boy, you’ll have the power to kill him, me, and all of London. Victory always comes at a price.”  
  
“Giles – no! If he gets the – ” Xander’s eye widened as Giles’ words registered. “Wait – what?”  
  
Removing his glasses with a small sigh, Giles set about polishing them patiently while he waited for Ethan to recover. Buffy looked at him in confusion and he nodded toward the amulet around her neck. “Give me the gem, Buffy.”  
  
She stared at him blankly for a moment. “What do you mean?”  
  
He kept his tone even, replacing his glasses – hoping that the tremor in his hands, the quaver of his voice, was detectable only to himself. “I mean precisely what I said: Give me the gem.” He met Ethan’s eye, noting the satisfaction in the man’s gaze. “This is what you’ve wanted all along, isn’t it, Ethan? For us to do battle? I’ve already told you we won’t be together again – this is the best you’ll get from me. One last fight, and it’s ended.”  
  
“Giles.” Her voice was small, shaken, and he managed the ghost of a reassuring smile. “It’s fine, Buffy. This is the way it needs to be.”  
  
To his surprise, she began to remove the amulet. Ethan’s attention was diverted momentarily by her actions, and Sylvia took that opportunity to act. Focusing her attention on the gun, she used every ounce of mental concentration she could summon to force the safety back in place – then rushed Ethan before anyone else knew what was happening.  
  
He was far stronger than she’d imagined, however. Effortlessly, Ethan pushed Xander out of the way, sending the boy sprawling to the ground. Sylvia watched the moment unfold as though in slow motion, every action graceful, fluid… eternal. The barrel of the gun turned to her, the din of shouting in the background, and then the force of the explosion in her chest pushed her backward.  
  
Into silence.  
  
Giles watched Sylvia go down in horror, unable to move, to react. Buffy cried out, but Sylvia made no sound – she simply fell. Ethan stared at the lifeless figure on the ground for a moment, a flush of – what? Giles tried to read him, tried to find a trace of the man he’d once known so intimately. Was it regret? Or just a flicker of changing light in the shadows? When the Watcher finally found his voice, the tone was cold, hard – immovable.  
  
“Buffy, get them out of here. Give me the amulet, get an ambulance for Sylvia – and leave us.”  
  
She didn’t protest this time, her fingers trembling violently when she dropped the amulet in the palm of his hand. Wordlessly, she went to Xander and the pair carefully carried the older woman outside.  
  
Leaving Giles and Ethan alone.  
  
* * * * *  
  
It was still raining outside – pouring, actually. Buffy was shaking, Xander was shaking – the only one who _wasn’t_ shaking was Sylvia, but she was kind of bleeding too much to waste time being chilly.  
  
Xander looked monumentally freaked; he knelt beside Sylvia’s body, his hands pressed against her chest trying to slow the blood. Buffy crouched beside him, glancing around the empty streets, trying to figure out her next move.  
  
“She’s dying,” he whispered hoarsely. “I don’t know who the hell she is – or what the hell’s going on, but…” Xander shook his head in confusion, and Buffy felt a surge of love for her old friend. At the fear in his voice, she came to, realizing that it was time to take control.  
  
“Stay here with her – I’ll get help.”  
  
A moment later, Buffy was racing through the streets of London at top speed, her heart racing. She’d find help, get Sylvia to a hospital, and then –  
  
Well, then she was going back in to save her Watcher. Whether he wanted her to or not.  
  
* * * * *  
  
“Well, Ripper… Alone at last.”  
  
“This is what it’s come to, then? You – a murderer? As passionless as that?”  
  
Ethan smiled slightly, a touch of sadness to his gaze as he studied the gun in his hand. “It’s not as bad as all that. You know me – I was never righteous. Never moral. Any fiber of that you may have chosen to see was there by your own design.”  
  
Giles swallowed past a sudden pain in his heart, at the flood of memories rushing back. “You were never cruel when I knew you before, Ethan.”  
  
The other man seemed to consider the words for a moment, weighing them before finally responding.  
  
“No – I suppose that came later; my time being studied alongside vampires and demons in the Initiative contributed admirably. So, I’ve learned cruelty. Borrowed magicks. Become the man with the power, something I know you’re not accustomed to. And what have _you_ learned in our time apart, Ripper?”  
  
“Stop calling me that,” Giles said tersely, taking a step forward, deliberately taking the amulet from his hand and placing it around his neck. As soon as he’d taken the step, an invisible force flung him back brutally. He slammed against the crypt wall, his breath shaken loose, and slid bonelessly to the floor where he remained for a moment, trying to overcome both the physical shock of the assault and the mental blow that came with the recognition of the depth of Ethan’s power.  
  
Ethan raised his eyebrows, wetting his lips with a quick swipe of his tongue. “I’d prefer you didn’t make any move toward me, unless I say. Now… The question of names. Ripper is past, or so you choose to believe. So who are you, exactly, now? Just a surname, from a family you despised when we were boys? Hiding those delicious little fantasies about a girl more than half your age – a girl you were given to care for as your own child.”  
  
Giles swallowed his growing rage, standing painfully, fully aware that this was exactly Ethan’s intent.  
  
“You know, Buffy was right. You really do love the sound of your own voice. Were you actually going to try and take the amulet, or is your strategy to bore me to death and then take it from my corpse?”  
  
He’d barely gotten the last word out when the rope holding the amulet began to tighten around his neck. Before it had completely cut off his circulation, Giles managed to get a finger between it and the flesh at his throat. Gasping for air, he tried desperately to pry it loose, watching in terror as Ethan’s eyes went completely black.  
  
A moment later, the rope loosened. Gulping oxygen back into his deprived lungs, supporting himself against the wall, Giles turned his back on Ethan as the other man spoke.  
  
“Really, Ripper – a little respect. We may no longer be lovers, but I’d like to believe we can both maintain at least the pretense of civility.”  
  
Recovering, Giles turned on the man. “What do you want from me, Ethan? Why do you insist on punishing me for mistakes made in the dark thirty years ago?”  
  
A look of near-pain, genuine humanity, crossed Ethan’s face, before it vanished beneath the mask of evil. “A mistake,” he repeated bitterly.  
  
In an instant, he was beside Giles, one arm around his throat while the other arm held him secure around his middle. The gun had vanished, in its place a knife with steely blade pressed against the Watcher’s sternum. Ethan's breath was moist, stale, and Giles’ throat went dry at the fury in the other man's voice.  
  
“You ask me what I want. When I was buried inside you, there was no question – no thought of fault, or blame. You act as though I’m a monster, but you were there, Ripper… You were part of it that summer, for every wrong turn. What made you worthy of redemption when I was destined for hell?”  
  
Ethan put more pressure on the blade at Giles’ belly; the Watcher felt it come through his clothes, pricking against bare skin, willing himself not to flinch. There was a moment of silence as he considered Ethan’s question, ghosts moving restlessly through his mind as he fought unexpected tears. Closing his eyes against them, he whispered his reply.  
  
“Because I felt remorse. You lived for the pleasure – that was always your weakness.” He struggled with the words, reliving the strangely erotic blur that had been their summer together. “You loved being with me at first because it felt good, and then,” he paused again, weighing the wisdom of the truth. “And then, you were with me simply because it _felt_ – the same reason that I was with you. Numbed by the magicks and the chaos, those moments when we were together meant an actual connection… But I needed more than blind pleasure and stolen moments of false intimacy. You never did – never would have, even after Randall.”  
  
Giles opened his eyes and froze. Ethan’s attention was focused on him; neither of them had noticed Buffy, creeping slowly into the room. At the Watcher’s words, her eyes widened. The two locked gazes for a moment before Giles looked away, his heart pounding at the things she had heard. Whatever the effect might have been, however, it took her only a few seconds to recover her balance. Giving up on hiding, she strolled casually from the shadows.  
  
“Wow – more yammering. Really, Ethan, are you ever gonna learn? Do the job and get the hell outta Dodge. Now – who’s got the amulet?”  
  
“I do,” Giles managed.  
  
She rolled her eyes, and Giles could have kissed her.  
  
“Wow. So, what have you guys been doing in here for the past twenty minutes – having tea? The amulet’s like a millimeter from you, Ethan – what do you need, an engraved invitation?”  
  
“This is none of your concern,” Giles finally managed. “I have everything under control.”  
  
She grinned at that, her eyebrows climbing high up her forehead. “Giles, please – you’ve got a knife pointed at your belly. I think somebody needs to reconsider the concept of the upper hand.”  
  
“Buffy, this is no time to be stubborn. I want you to leave here immediately.” He cleared his throat, trying to inject some authority into his tone, noting that, for once, Ethan seemed to have nothing to add but was watching the interaction between them somewhat curiously.  
  
“No,” she said flatly; Giles felt the start of a migraine at the familiar tone of her voice.  
  
“Do as your Watcher says – be a good Slayer now and run along.” Ethan added, “Is she always this difficult?”  
  
“You have no idea,” Giles murmured.  
  
Buffy planted her feet, hands on her slender hips. “I’m not going. This is some cheesy macho showdown, and I’m totally not interested in watching you die for something that lame. If we were talking about saving mankind, or the whales, or something – well, then, maybe. But just because your old… _whatever_ can’t move on already… Nope. Sorry. I’m not leaving.”  
  
In his periphery, Giles saw the look of frank incredulity on Ethan’s face. Seizing the moment of distraction, he pushed his body backward, away from the knife and fully into Ethan. Slamming him into the wall behind them, he’d just managed to bat the knife away when Ethan recovered. Under the power of his old friend’s magick, the knife righted itself in mid-air and began a steady, high-velocity course directly toward Giles.  
  



	17. Chapter 17

“I must say, I pictured this moment somewhat differently.”  
  
Sylvia opened her eyes hesitantly, relieved – and somewhat disconcerted – to find the pain gone. At the man kneeling beside her, a slow smile touched her lips, tears flooding her eyes.  
  
“You’re here.”  
  
Loren nodded, studying her in that intent, curious way that he always had. “Yes, I’m here. Have been for some time now. The question, though, is what, exactly, are _you_ doing here?”  
  
The suit he wore was gray, and the tie one a bit flashier than she ever remembered seeing him wear before – a deep maroon. At his tone and the gravity on his face, she tried to recall what had happened.  
  
“I was shot,” she whispered, her tone one more of amazement than horror. She sat up, slowly becoming aware of her surroundings: a grassy patch beside a brook, trees all around, sunlight streaming through a patchwork of leaves to form a mottled pattern of light and dark on the ground below. It had been a favorite picnic spot they’d shared, she realized – one she hadn’t returned to since Loren’s death.  
  
At her words, he nodded sadly, sitting on the ground beside her.  
  
“You’ll get your suit dirty,” she warned him.  
  
He grinned at this; it was an expression Sylvia had forgotten. Living every day without him, she had remembered intimate moments, shared glances, that last glass of burgundy before bed every evening… But that grin, the way his eyes danced when he looked at her – she’d forgotten that. What it was to be treasured.  
  
“There are no shortage of suits here – I’ll be fine. You, though… you’ve gotten yourself in quite the situation.”  
  
“But it’s all right, now. I’m here – all better.”  
  
A shadow crossed his face. He leaned in, running a finger down her cheek and along her lips. She leaned into his hand, realizing just how long it had been since someone had touched her with any kind of intimacy.  
  
“I’ve missed you.” Her eyes welled once more at the emotion in his voice. Taking a moment to recover himself, he continued. “But you knew when you signed on what you’d be getting into. Thirty years your senior, Syl… We talked about it – you knew I’d go first.”  
  
“But not that soon,” she protested, her voice cracking with the pain, the fury of the situation. “Not that way. We had more time – ”  
  
He shook his head, laying a finger upon her lips to silence her. “No. We didn’t. _You_ have more time. Things to do, people to save...”  
  
“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” she whispered softly. “You were supposed to be there. To show me the way.”  
  
He leaned in, his voice in her ear feeling strangely like the whisper of home.  
  
“You know the way, Syl. You always did – we did it together because then it was our time. Now you go back, and finish what we started.”  
  
***  
  
Giles closed his eyes – really, much more tightly than dignity should have allowed – and waited for the fatal blow. Instead, the knife stopped a millimetre from his throat, hung in the air, and then daintily slipped down to the rope holding the amulet and severed the tie. No longer secured, both knife and gem flew to Ethan’s waiting hand.  
  
Giles started after it immediately, but Buffy stood in his path, between the two men. Looking from Giles to Ethan and back again, she shook her head.  
  
“Forget it, we’re going.”  
  
He stared at her with frank incredulity.  
  
“But the amulet – ”  
  
“We’ll find another way.”  
  
Ethan looked smug, placing the amulet over his head and around his neck. Giles watched him close his eyes, savoring the feeling of power, and once again the Watcher recalled those days of his youth. It wasn’t that Ethan had been _bad_ per se. How could evil exist in a man who simply refused to recognize those sorts of powers in the universe? Giles had always been slightly in awe of Ethan’s ability to completely forget the big picture and focus instead on a single moment.  
  
Beside him, he felt Buffy take his hand and squeeze. Looking down to meet her gaze, she nodded toward the exit.  
  
“Giles, please – we need to go.”  
  
Ethan’s eyes opened once more, focusing on his old friend. “Yes, Rupert. I have what I came for.”  
  
Giles stared at him, a sad smile touching his lips. “Do you?” There was a charged pause, before he looked away. “Yes, well… I suppose she’s right, then. We’ll go. Goodbye, Ethan.”  
  
They left together, Buffy’s hand still in his own, the warmth of her by his side at once a comfort and a reminder of the things she had heard. The look in her eye when she had insisted they leave had reassured him that she had a plan; once they were out of earshot, he turned to her curiously.  
  
“What did you do?”  
  
She shrugged. “Called the Council – they’re waiting outside.”  
  
His eyes widened in horror. “Buffy – with the kind of power Ethan has right now, he can simply teleport himself away.”  
  
A profusion of curses rang through the crypt, emanating from the inner chamber. Buffy picked up her pace, pulling Giles along.  
  
“Not without the amulet, he can’t.”  
  
* * * * *  
  
“So, a spell?”  
  
Sylvia nodded, still looking too pale to be deemed of the living.  
  
“A rather simple one, really. I just placed a barrier over the tomb – nothing magical could get out.”  
  
“Including Ethan, as long as he had the amulet,” Buffy summarized.  
  
Giles and Buffy sat at Sylvia’s bedside at the hospital. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since they’d left Ethan in the crypt. Sylvia had roused herself enough to do the spell on the tomb and hold it until the Council came in and retrieved the amulet – less Ethan, who had predictably vanished.  
  
As soon as the amulet was in their possession once more, however, the woman had slipped back into unconsciousness. Now, awake once again, Giles noted a renewed vigor to her eyes, despite the physical toll the recent turmoil had taken.  
  
“So, yay on you,” Buffy added with a fond smile. “Now that you’ve saved the world from unspeakable evil, Sylvia Caswell, what are you gonna do next?”  
  
Giles stifled a grin at the perplexed expression on Sylvia’s face, rolling his eyes. “My apologies. American humor – deplorable, really. You’re supposed to reply that now you’ll go to Disney World.”  
  
Buffy grinned, her eyes wide with amazement. “Giles! You got a pop culture reference. Okay – maybe like a fifteen-year-old pop culture reference, but still…color me impressed.”  
  
She was sitting very close to him at the bedside. They had yet to discuss the conversation she’d overheard in the crypt, having spent the past twelve hours trying to unravel the tangle of deceit and chaos Ethan had woven. But, throughout that time, it seemed Buffy couldn’t get close enough to him, taking comfort in his presence in a way she hadn’t since her return from the grave years before.  
  
There was a difference this time, however. She was fully capable of standing on her own, fielding the Council’s questions with poise and the utmost confidence; it just seemed that those questions went that much more smoothly when her hand was in his.  
  
Giles was shaken out of his reverie by the expression on Sylvia’s face. There was a loss there, a resignation that he understood all too well.  
  
“Are you all right, Syl?”  
  
Leaning in slightly, he turned with a grateful smile when Buffy stood and excused herself, leaving the two old friends alone.  
  
Sylvia managed a smile and a weak nod, laughing away the tears in her eyes. “Yes, actually – better than I’ve been in quite some time. But I need two things from you.”  
  
He gave her a look of exaggerated wariness. “And that would be?”  
  
“A job,” she returned promptly, holding up her hand before he could protest. He closed his mouth quickly, waiting for her to continue.  
  
“I need to be of use. And I love what you do – love being involved in people’s lives, having a purpose. I’ve sat around the house quite long enough in love with a ghost – it’s time to move on, get some time away.”  
  
A flicker of a smile touched his lips. “I’ll talk to Travers. We’ll see what can be arranged.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“You said two things?”  
  
Her expression changed to one of infinite tenderness, however there was a perceptible layer of steel beneath. “I want you to stop wasting time like a bloody old fool, and tell Buffy how you feel.”

Giles felt his cheeks go pink, quickly removing his glasses to begin polishing them carefully with his handkerchief.  
  
"I - really, I don't know what you mean. That's absurd."  
  
Sylvia laughed aloud at his plainly hollow denial, then cursed at the pain of laughter. At her exclamation, Rupert looked at her with concern.  
  
"Are you all right? Really, Syl, you need to take it easy.”  
  
“I’m fine. Now – about that Slayer of yours…”  
  
He shook his head quickly, regaining his composure as he replaced his glasses. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’ve obviously gone mad.”  
  
“Rupert… I’ve seen the looks between you. I was there when you brought her to me; I watched the way you cared for her.”  
  
“She’s my responsibility.”  
  
She looked at him evenly, seeing her entire past about to be played out in a whole new light. “She’s your destiny.”  
  
Their eyes held for a moment, the truth of the statement registering in his eyes before he covered with a glib laugh.  
  
“I think that’s a bit melodramatic, don’t you? I’m nearly fifty years old… I – I’ve got… scars on my scars. Haven’t been in a successful long-term relationship in years. Buffy’s a beautiful, intelligent young woman with everything in front of her.”  
  
“And yet she’s in love with you.”  
  
Rupert stared at her in wonder, before shaking his head. “I – I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you have enough understanding of our history – ”  
  
“Rupert,” she interrupted gently, taking his hand in her own. “I lived it. I was the girl… The one who could have chosen one of a hundred different paths. I recognize the look in her eyes when you enter a room, because it was the way I saw Loren. There’s no cure for that kind of love.”  
  
“But…” he took a moment, allowing himself for just one moment to consider the possibilities if Sylvia was right. “You believe she loves me?”  
  
She nodded wordlessly.  
  
“And not as a father?”  
  
“Not unless she had a wholly inappropriate relationship with Daddy, no,” she replied with a mocking grin.  
  
A moment later, the hope faded and reality set in. Giles shook his head. “But… You know firsthand how this ends. Buffy is no longer a solitary Slayer – premature death isn’t the inevitable side effect of her calling now. You’ve lived through it, Syl: Giving up everything for a man who’s already past his prime. What do you have to show for it, now? What can I offer her that could possibly compensate for the sacrifices she’ll be making to be with me?”  
  
Tears pricked her eyes and he watched as she swallowed past them, forcing herself to speak. "For twenty-four years, I woke each morning to a man I worshiped. I spent nights reveling in laughter, and passion, and the wonder of true love." Tilting her head, she gazed at him quizzically. “Do you really think so little of yourself, Rupert? And of her? At least give her the opportunity to decide for herself what kind of so-called sacrifices she’s willing to make to be with the man she loves.”  
  
“The man she loves,” he repeated softly, turning the words over.  
  
Sylvia grinned outright. “Like the sound of it?”  
  
He nodded thoughtfully, his voice still quiet, restrained – but with a touch of hope returned, all the same.  
  
“I must say, I do.”  
  



	18. Chapter 18

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Dawn asked for at least the tenth time in the past half hour.  
  
Instead of being reassuring or jokey or even a little annoyed, though, Xander just nodded and went back to watching TV. There was some BBC decorating show on – he acted like it was a sneak peek at the Clone Wars or something.  
  
“Yeah, Dawn. I’m good.” He reached for another handful of popcorn, and she frowned. Not even a Dawnster – definitely not a good sign. Since he’d gotten back from the whole ordeal with Buffy and Giles, he’d barely looked at her. Which was just wrong, because she’d decked herself out in her best short skirt and heels, as soon as she found out everything was okay and Xander wasn’t Possessed Boy anymore.  
  
She knew that there was plenty to be traumatized about, of course: Buffy and Giles got to Giles’ apartment early that morning to find her, Andrew, and Willow still conked out. It turned out that Xander (or Ethan, she guessed) had dropped rufies in everyone’s drinks the night before, to make sure they didn’t follow him out that night.  
  
So, by seven o’clock that morning, everyone had been rushed to the Council doctors to make sure there was no permanent damage. From there, all Dawn had gotten from Buffy was a quick hug and the vague reassurance that everything was “cool” now, before she and Giles had to go back and hang with the witchy woman Dawn had met at the pub.  
  
But as soon as she’d seen Xander, Dawn had known how totally not cool everything was. At first, he kept asking her if she was okay, until finally she took his hand and put it on her heart, just teasing him.  
  
“Xander – feel that? It’s called a heartbeat. I’m fine. This is me, flesh and blood, just like before. Not even a scrape; maybe a little rumbly in the belly, but that’s it.”  
  
There’d been this long pause where he’d gotten so quiet, and she was totally not prepared for the tears that formed in his pretty brown eye. Before she could get up the courage to finally just kiss him, he pulled his hand back and turned away – which was pretty much when he became catatonic TV-watching guy.  
  
Andrew came into the living room, flopping down on the couch beside Dawn.  
  
“Any word from Buffy or Mr. Giles about Ms. Caswell?”  
  
Dawn shook her head, glaring in Xander’s direction as she crossed her arms over her chest.  
  
“No. Everybody’s pretty quiet today.”  
  
Then Andrew started babbling about the show Xander was watching, and Dawn left the room with a disgusted sigh.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Not ten minutes later, there was a knock on the guest room door, where Dawn had been staying since Buffy and Giles disappeared. Hoping Xander had finally gotten out of his funk, she checked herself quickly in the mirror – smoothing her hair and skirt, giving her teeth the once-over – and opened up.  
  
“Andrew.”  
  
He had a bag of carrot sticks and offered her one as he pushed past her into the bedroom, not even bothering to ask if he could come in.  
  
“Xander’s upset because he thinks it’s his fault Anya died and his fault Buffy got shot and the gem got stolen and you’re too good to be with someone who doesn’t have a gross hole where his eye should be,” he blurted out.  
  
Dawn stared at him in amazement. “What the hell are you talking about?”  
  
He started to repeat the same spiel, almost word for word, until Dawn held up her hand for him to stop.  
  
“I heard you the first time, but – how do you know that? He just said all that to you, in the few minutes it took for me to get from there to here?”  
  
Andrew waited until he’d crunched through another carrot stick, sitting down on Dawn’s bed, before he nodded.  
  
“Yep. Well – no, not in those exact words.”  
  
Dawn’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Well, what exact words did he use?” He hedged until Dawn stood in front of him, hands on hips, giving him her best glare. “Andrew.”  
  
He sighed. “Okay – I said ‘Wouldn’t you rather watch a DVD than that decorating show – even though I do like that show, because the woman’s really pretty and always has neat shoes, and those guys she works with are totally – ”  
  
At the look on Dawn’s face, Andrew stopped short. Taking a breath, he got himself back on track.  
  
“Then he said he didn’t care what we watched, it didn’t really matter, because nothing looks right with only one eye anyway, so what’s the point. Then he said he had to go out.”  
  
Dawn waited for him to continue, but when he started munching again, she realized he was done.  
  
“That’s it?”  
  
He looked surprised, like she should have totally come to the same conclusion that he had. “Mm hmm.”  
  
“But you said – ” She paused, taking a minute to really think about Xander’s words, combined with all that had happened to him. “He really said that – about how nothing looks right anymore?”  
  
Andrew nodded absently, focused back on his carrots.  
  
“And you think that means…”  
  
“That he feels guilty about Anya and Buffy and us and thinks it’s all his fault and you deserve better,” he finished for her, all in one breath.  
  
Dawn threw herself onto the bed beside him with a frustrated moan. “Well, that’s just dumb.”  
  
Andrew nodded, getting that annoying wise look before he turned to her.  
  
“Yeah.” He paused. “Wanna play D&D?”  
  
She stared at him, still thinking about Xander, and then shook her head. "No. I think I need a little sisterly advice."  
  
He actually looked hurt. "Who gives better sisterly advice than me?"  
  
Instead of being annoyed by the pathetic look on his face, Dawn was actually kind of touched - must've been the rufies and the lack of sleep and the whole possessed potential boyfriend thing. She patted his shoulder reassuringly as she got up from the bed.  
  
"Hopefully, in this case, big sis is gonna come through. But I may come to you for back-up."  
  
Andrew nodded, apparently satisfied with that.  
  
  


****

“This is the best dog ever.”  
  
Buffy nodded seriously, brushing out Moon’s long fur while Dawn fondled his ears as they sat on the couch, the dog stretched between them. Once Dawn had gotten in touch with her sister, Buffy had invited her over for dinner at Sylvia’s, hoping to at least establish a little of the old routine, before the chaos of London and Ethan Rayne.  
  
“He’s great, isn’t he?”  
  
“What kind is he?”  
  
She shrugged. “Beats me. Whatever different kinds you need to get a giant, crazy-hairy, super-mellow monster dog.”  
  
Dawn nodded with a smile, then got more serious. “So you’re gonna stay here until that lady gets out of the hospital?”  
  
“That’s the plan. It’ll be kind of weird staying here without Giles… I got used to him being here, you know? We got into that old rhythm. But…” She blushed at the look of curiosity on Dawn’s face, focusing just a little too hard on a snarl in Moon’s tail to cover. The dog let out a tormented whimper, and she petted his side apologetically.  
  
“Oops. Um – anyway, where was I?”  
  
“You’re in love with Giles,” Dawn said matter-of-factly.  
  
Buffy nodded, not quite paying attention. “Right. So, it’ll be – wait. Huh? I totally never said that.”  
  
Dawn cocked her eyebrow the way Giles did when he wanted a straight answer, not saying a word. Buffy let the silence go for a few seconds before she finally gave up.  
  
“Okay – let’s say _maybe_ I might have figured some stuff out about Giles and me while we were on the run. You wouldn’t be wigged?”  
  
Dawn shrugged, rolling her eyes and yawning all at the same time – like the seasoned apocalypse survivor that she was.  
  
“Please. Do you know how many weird things I’ve seen? Dead bodies, demons, demon dead bodies… And I’m totally your average, well-adjusted eighteen-year-old.”  
  
Buffy smirked at that one, until Dawn finally shrugged her concession. “Okay – not completely without flaws or insecurities...”  
  
“But pretty darn close,” Buffy finished for her, looking at her sister fondly. “So you’d be okay?”  
  
“Giles is… Well, he’s Giles. He’s sweet, and strong, and he does dishes. After the Immortal, Giles is practically Johnny Depp. I just want you to be happy.”  
  
Buffy crawled over Moon, still lying inert between them, to give Dawn an impulsive hug. The hug quickly turned to giggles, and Moon scrambled up to get away from the girls’ display. When they parted, Buffy was serious for a moment.  
  
“So, here’s the question: How do I tell him? And what if he doesn’t feel the same way?”  
  
“That’s two questions,” Dawn pointed out. Buffy didn’t respond, just rolled her eyes, and so Dawn took a minute to consider the questions. Finally, she took a breath and measured her words gravely.  
  
“You just gotta lay your cards on the table.”  
  
“Excuse me?” Buffy looked at her skeptically, sitting back on the couch and stretching her legs now that the dog was gone.  
  
“You know. Metaphorical cards, on a metaphorical table. No more secrets, no more what-if’s. Just tell him. He loves you, Buff – I’ve seen the way he looks at you. We all have, we just maybe didn’t want to admit it. So… put it out there. Be brave.”  
  
Buffy thought about the advice, then looked at Dawn with a wondering smile. “When’d you get so smart, anyway?”  
  
Dawn grinned. “I’ve always been smart. You just needed to wise up before you appreciated it.”  
  
Buffy stuck out her tongue, standing and extending a hand to help Dawn up as well. Once they were standing, they went into the kitchen to finish up the dinner dishes. Dawn was just putting away the last of the silverware when she finally got up the nerve to ask what had been on her mind.  
  
“Do you know much about Xander’s family?”

Buffy looked at her in surprise. “Okay – kinda random. But I guess I can go with it. Uh – no, not any more than what we all observed from the drunken brawls at the Wedding That Wasn’t.” She studied her younger sister for a minute before prodding gently. “Why?”  
  
A few seconds passed in silence before Dawn finally said quietly, “He didn’t grow up the way we did, right? I mean… even though things weren’t great with Dad, Mom was good to us and we had good meals and clean sheets and stuff. But Xander’s family… They were pretty crappy to him.”  
  
Buffy's thoughts returned instantly to the mornings in high school when he’d come in exhausted; the unexplained bruises that hadn’t come from vampires or demons. She nodded sadly.  
  
“Yeah. They were pretty crappy.”  
  
“And…” Dawn stopped, frustrated, trying to figure out how to say all the things that she wanted to say. Finally, she blurted out, “I want to love him, Buffy.”  
  
Buffy’s eyes widened to about twice their normal size. “What? You what?”  
  
Dawn held up her hand, blushing furiously. “No, that’s not what I meant – not in the naked way. Oh god. I mean, someday maybe, but I want…” She took a breath, waiting until she’d recovered a little before continuing. “I’m in love with him, Buffy. Not twelve-year-old puppy-dog-tails love. But… Love. Capital L. He’s good, and he’s kind, and – ” Her eyes filled with tears, and Buffy stared at her in stunned silence.  
  
“I want him to know that he’s those things. Do you think… Do you think he’d ever want me?”  
  
Buffy looked her up and down, taking in the breathtaking beauty her little sister had become. The knowledge that beneath that beauty beat a heart so pure that it could break for a man as misunderstood as Xander… Buffy blinked away her own tears, laughing away the emotion of the moment.  
  
“If he doesn’t, he’s an idiot. And Xander may be a lot of things, but he’s no dummy.” She took a deep breath as Dawn did the same, the sisters self-consciously wiping away their tears.  
  
“So, tomorrow we go into the whole man-getting mode. Tonight, though…”  
  
Dawn grinned knowingly. “Ice cream?”  
  
“And then some.”  
  
  



	19. Chapter 19

Two nights later, the Scoobies had reassembled at Giles’ flat. Despite Buffy and Giles’ safe return and Sylvia’s quick recovery, dinner was a sober affair. Buffy and Dawn had been staying over at Sylvia’s while she was in hospital, but now that she had been released, they had returned to Giles’ for a few days before going back to Rome. Willow and Andrew alone seemed animated – due in large part to the mission they had just been assigned by the young Travers.  
  
“So, we’ll start in Jamaica, and then move on from there,” Andrew concluded his rather long-winded dissertation on the Council’s plans. Giles smiled at him absently, managing to tear his eyes from the vision that was Buffy this evening. She wore a black dress with a low neckline and a hem that came to her knees, insisting that after wearing Sylvia’s over-large clothes for days, she simply wanted to feel feminine again. Giles was entranced, and rapidly rethinking the initial plan to confess his feelings for her later that evening. Someone as stunning as she, he reasoned, could never possibly have any kind of romantic interest in a man already well into the inevitable softening of middle age.  
  
Oblivious to his dilemma, Willow nodded enthusiastically in response to Andrew’s words. “They figure if we can begin a comprehensive study assimilating traditional voodoo magicks from that region with what we already know, we might be able to create a whole new methodology for training young Wiccas.”  
  
“And Watchers,” Andrew added quickly.  
  
“And Watchers,” Willow agreed.  
  
“I can’t believe you guys are really leaving,” Buffy said softly, looking irrevocably miserable at the thought. Willow smiled at her reassuringly.  
  
“We won’t be gone forever – a month or two, tops. Probably. And… I mean, it’s not like we’ve spent all that much time together since getting expatriate-y. We’re usually not even in the same country.”  
  
Buffy nodded, and Giles was surprised to see the look that she snuck his way before returning her attention once more to the half-eaten food on her plate.  
  
“Yeah, but I was kinda hoping that would change. I talked to Sylvia today, and she mentioned that she’s gonna need someone to watch Moon, and take care of the house…” She looked quickly to Dawn, whose eyes had widened impressively at this latest news.  
  
“We could stay in London?”  
  
A small smile of relief touched Buffy’s lips. “Only if you want to. I know you’ve gotten pretty comfortable in Rome.”  
  
“Forget Rome – I’m totally over Italian guys.” Giles watched sadly as Xander lifted his gaze to glance at Dawn before looking away quickly, seemingly unimpressed by the news that she would be remaining in the city. The look was not lost on Dawn, who looked considerably sobered when his lack of enthusiasm registered. A deep silence fell over the dinner table.  
  
Giles glanced around at the others poking half-heartedly at the remaining food on their plates, trying to figure out what he could possibly say to either liven up the evening or else put it out of its misery. To his surprise, Buffy and Dawn solved the problem for him.  
  
“Dawn, didn’t you say there was a movie you wanted to see?”  
  
Dawn took her cue like a professional. “Oh – yeah. Yep. Van Helsing’s playing.”  
  
“I hated that movie,” Andrew said flatly.  
  
Xander looked up glumly from tormenting his mashed potatoes, with a nod. “Yeah, it sucked. Cool special effects, though.”  
  
Giles took a moment from his own thoughts to note once again how changed Xander seemed ever since his ordeal with Ethan. The Watcher had no idea what his old friend might have said to the boy and hadn’t a clue how to broach the subject, but it had obviously wounded him deeply. He hadn’t seen Xander this down since just after leaving Sunnydale.  
  
Dawn stood abruptly, grabbing Andrew by the arm and practically hauling him up out of his chair. “It’s better the second time.”  
  
“I already saw it twice.”  
  
Dawn rolled her eyes. Getting the hint that there was a plan afoot, Willow stood as well.  
  
“I bet it’s better in London.”  
  
“Right,” Dawn agreed with relief. “Cause – you know, it’ll be in English.”  
  
“I saw it in English before.”  
  
Xander sighed, standing and tossing Andrew his coat as he headed for the door. “Giles and Buffy need quality Watcher-Slayer time. We’re being booted.”  
  
Dawn grinned, looking over her shoulder at Buffy just before heading out the door after the others.  
  
“We’ll probably be back late. Maybe two, three o’clock.”  
  
“Nice try, Dawn. You’re still seventeen – you’ll be back by midnight. Capiche?”  
  
The younger girl rolled her eyes. “Man – some people just don’t appreciate a favor.”  
  
With that, the door closed behind the group and the flat fell strangely silent. Giles stared after them in amazement, not entirely certain exactly what had transpired but unwilling to question, for fear the gods would take back their gift.  
  
“So… You didn’t want to go to the movies?”  
  
Buffy shook her head. “Nope. Wanted to stay here – spend a little time with you. You know – down time, when we’re not on the verge of dying or anything.”  
  
Giles smiled, standing to clear the table. Buffy did the same, following him into the kitchen as he tried desperately to think of a way to broach the subject of their relationship. In his mind, he’d plotted his speech a dozen times; had come up with countless ways of declaring his love. Unfortunately, he’d neglected to come up with any appropriate introduction. Somehow, jumping in with ‘I’ve wanted you in hundreds of utterly inappropriate ways for far longer than decency should allow’ lacked the finesse for which he was striving.  
  
Buffy started and stopped a dozen conversations as they tidied up the kitchen, seemingly as ill-at-ease as he. At last, the dishes were done and the counters wiped down. They retired to the living room, a bottle of merlot and two wine glasses in Giles’ hands. He stood indecisively for several moments, caught between the sofa and the recliner, before Buffy graciously made the decision for him by tossing her bag on the chair. Gratefully, he sat down beside her on the sofa.  
  
He set the glasses on the coffee table and poured a liberal amount of wine in each, handing one to Buffy before he sat back and tried to relax.  
  
“We haven’t had much time to talk since Ethan skedaddled,” Buffy observed. At mention of Ethan’s name, Giles’ heart sank. Somehow, he’d hoped they could just avoid discussing the conversation she’d overheard in the crypt. But, if she was going to bring it up, he refused to shy from the subject.  
  
“I’m sorry that you heard what you did. I never intended…”  
  
She shrugged, smiling ruefully. “It’s no big, Giles. I mean – okay, yeah, I was a little wigged at first. But I don’t know why – I mean, you pretty much told me about the old demon-raising orgy days, back when we were dealing with Eyghon.”  
  
He blushed, laughing despite himself at her strangely charming way of phrasing things. “Yes, I suppose I did.”  
  
A moment’s silence passed between them – not an uncomfortable one – before Buffy added quietly, “I didn’t know you cared about him, though.”  
  
He lowered his eyes, taking a moment before meeting her gaze once more. “Yes, I cared for him. He wasn't always... I don't know when he became so cruel, but he was never that way before. We were friends – lovers – in a deplorable time in my life. I wanted only to forget the responsibilities of being chosen. Ethan and the others had no interest in destiny or fate; they lived completely for the moment.”  
  
The flat fell silent once more, Giles at a loss as to where to go next. But, sensing that Buffy had further questions, he remained mute – waiting for her to gather her courage.  
  
Finally, after she’d nearly twisted herself inside-out beside him, he sighed.  
  
“Buffy, you know you can ask me anything and I will always try to be truthful.”  
  
“It’s really no big deal. I just…” She shrugged, smiling apologetically, and met his eyes once more. “But you guys were…lovers.”  
  
He didn’t flinch or look away, nodding seriously. “We had sexual relations, for a summer – we weren’t exclusive at the time. I was in a very different place in my life.”  
  
“But you aren’t gay? I mean – Ms. Calendar, and my mom, and Olivia…”  
  
He held up his hand, a pleading look on his face. “Please – no need to rehash them all. No – I am not gay. Or bisexual, for that matter. It’s difficult to explain now. I have nothing against others’ lifestyles – having lived a somewhat extreme example of an alternative lifestyle myself, that would be a bit hypocritical. But…” He stopped, at a loss, shaking his head in confusion. “I’m sorry – what was the question?”  
  
Buffy burst out laughing, and he grinned his relief. She rolled her eyes. “Relax, Giles. I mean – have you _met_ my ex-boyfriends? The Big Bads who toured the world with the Mistress of Pain and the Queen of Crazy? I’m pretty sure the term ‘blood orgy’ doesn’t even come close to describing their idea of a good time on Saturday night in the old days. You’ve got a past.” A shrug from thin shoulders, another roll of lovely green eyes. “Welcome to the club.”  
  
Yet another silence fell. Dawn and Andrew had been playing Go Fish earlier in the day. Now, Buffy picked up half the deck of cards the duo had left strewn on the coffee table, shuffling them restlessly as she waited for Giles to speak. He sighed, removing his glasses and sitting back a bit farther on the sofa.  
  
“You’re right, of course. I only… I feel as though all I’ve done is continually disappoint you over the years. I know I’ve never played this role as you may have liked.”  
  
She looked across at him, studying him for a moment before she returned her attention to idly shuffling the cards.  
  
“The role of my Watcher or the role of my father?”  
  
She tossed a card casually on the table, still not looking at him. Giles swallowed around the sudden pronounced discomfort in his chest at her words. There it was.  
  
He cleared his throat. “B – both, I suppose. I know that you looked to me for the support you lacked from your own father.”  
  
Buffy looked at him quizzically, holding his gaze this time. “How do you know that? I mean – I never said I wanted you to be my Dad.”  
  
“Well, not as such, no. But it seemed – there was – ”  
  
“The Ice Capades,” she finished for him, tossing another card on the table. He glanced at it, wondering both at the action and at how effortlessly this conversation seemed to be coming to her. While he, on the other hand, was a stuttering mess. Buffy also glanced at the card, waiting a moment before she seemed to make up her mind about something.  
  
“I don’t know what I wanted from you, then. You always felt safe, though – it always seemed like I could just be with you, and you saw who I was, and you understood that. Didn’t judge.”  
  
“Like a father,” he finished for her.  
  
“Like a friend,” she countered quickly. “Fathers and daughters aren’t the same as Watchers and Slayers, Giles. You know that; I know that. Maybe Quentin Travers didn’t get it.” Three cards were added onto the pile in quick succession, before Buffy met his eye and the game finally made sense. “But we get it, don’t we, Giles?”  
  
He picked the other half of the deck up from the table. Fingering the top card, he studied it before taking a steadying breath and adding the card to the few she’d discarded.  
  
“I wouldn’t take you to the Ice Capades because I knew I couldn’t be a father to you. Even then.”  
  
Buffy drew a startled breath. When she looked up, their eyes held for an endless moment. This time, she didn’t look away as she flipped the next card onto the pile.  
  
“I didn’t think it was old and gross when I saw you with Olivia.” She blushed, adding another card quickly and lowering her eyes. “I wanted to stake her where she stood.”  
  
Giles grinned in surprise at that, unable to contain his delight at the admission. The space between them on the sofa had inexplicably lessened, though he couldn’t say which of them was migrating nearer. He glanced at his barely touched deck of cards, however, and realized that he still had some miles to cover. Willing himself to be patient, he tried to order his thoughts.  
  
“I left after you died because I couldn’t bear to go through the motions of living a life that had once held you, as though nothing had changed. It felt obscene.” He dropped two cards onto the pile, remembering the endless torment of those months without her.  
  
She smiled sadly, her eyes filling. Curling her legs up beneath her, she stared at the cards in her hand for a long while – as though trying to find a deeper meaning in them.  
  
Finally, she shrugged, discarding another card. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you.”  
  
He looked at her questioningly, and she shrugged again.  
  
“I’d love to say I was crazy about you, couldn’t wait to get you alone and tear your sensible Watcher shirt off, but…” She shook her head, and Giles was suddenly transfixed by a curl of blonde hair that fell over the graceful shell of her ear. He could feel her warmth, just a foot from him, and nodded – aching to reach for her, but knowing that there was still something she needed to understand. Losing patience with the game suddenly, he took her remaining cards and combined them with his own, dropping the entire pile onto the coffee table. His lips curved in a sad smile, he turned to face her, taking both of her hands in his own.  
  
“It’s the reason I left – knowing that you wanted me to repair your life, and I couldn’t do it anymore. Not the way you needed. I couldn’t help, couldn’t even reach you; it seemed you’d made the choice about who I was to be in your life.”  
  
“You mean my entire emotional, financial, life-less support system?”  
  
A twinkle touched his eyes, his eyebrows raised ruefully. “You wouldn’t even give me 'rakish uncle.' So it seemed to me… Once I turned my back on that, on being part of your life to that degree, all that was left was Watcher. When I returned to Sunnydale that final time, I thought that if I did everything by the book – if I was a Watcher the way the Council had trained me – then perhaps we could just…”  
  
“Pretend that’s all we ever were?”  
  
He shrugged, unable to take his eyes from hers, despite the fear that he would find something that he didn’t like. Instead, he found her studying him just as intently, her eyes flashing over his features as though trying to decrypt a particularly mystifying text.  
  
“You promised me when I was shot that you’d never leave me again. You meant that?”  
  
He blinked back unexpected tears at the guarded expression on her face. Nodding, he cleared his throat once more before whispering his response.   
“I did.”  
  
Her hands shifted in his, her finger lightly stroking the inside of his palms. “I don’t want you to be my father,” she whispered back, a tentative smile touching her lips.  
  
“That’s very, very good,” he managed in a low voice.  
  
“Or my mother.”  
  
At this, he grinned openly. “Even better.”  
  
She inched closer to him, laying her hand on his thigh, her finger idly tracing circles that scorched through trousers and flesh, setting his blood alight. He turned to face her fully, reaching out to brush the tendril of blonde hair that had so captivated him, back behind her ear.  
  
“Or my rakish uncle.”  
  
He nodded, mesmerized as her hand moved from his thigh to his chest, resting there lightly as she moved in. He moved his hand from her ear to the back of her neck, pulling her closer. “Marvelous,” he managed huskily before their lips finally met.  
  
Her lips were softer, sweeter, than he’d even imagined; at the feel of them moving lightly against his own, Giles was undone. Pulling her closer still, he introduced his tongue and she opened willingly to him, shuddering against him as he explored every nuance of her lovely mouth.  
  
She pressed herself against him, the feel of her breasts tantalizing against his chest, and after a moment of trying to reconcile the awkwardness of kissing while sitting upright on the sofa, he pushed her back gently until she was partially reclining, her eyes closed, breath coming quickly and cheeks flushed from arousal. Giles stopped everything, just for a moment, intent on memorizing the perfection of this single instant.  
  
Buffy’s eyes flew open and she blushed self-consciously, a hand flying quickly to her hair. “What – do I have make-out hair?”  
  
He smiled, leaning in until he was mere seconds from her lips. “You’re perfect.”  
  
She giggled, and he pulled back to look at her skeptically. “I believe this is the moment when you’re supposed to swoon at my skill and eloquence.”  
  
Snaking her arms around his middle, her slight smile turned to a grin. “Trust me, I’m swoony.” She didn’t say anything for a moment, still grinning almost to the point of madness, and he laughed outright.  
  
“You look like the Cheshire cat. What is it?” He petted his hair in a near-perfect imitation of her own gesture. “Please, don’t tell me _I_ have make-out hair. I couldn’t bear it.”  
  
She catapulted herself at him, sending him sprawling flat on the sofa, her body on top of his own. There had been an immediate physical response at their first kiss, but now, at the feel of her body pressed agonizingly against his own, Giles found himself hard, more than ready. Buffy undulated against him tantalizingly, watching his face with a strange mix of curiosity and desire.  
  
And then that damned grin again.  
  
“Really, Buffy, it’s enough to give a man a complex, that smile of yours.” He wrapped his arms around her, tickling her soundly until she begged for him to stop.  
  
“Okay, okay – geez, don’t make a federal case out of it. Why do people usually smile, Giles?”  
  
She was still on top of him, their bodies pressed as close as possible with clothing still in the mix, her hands on either side of his head supporting herself so she could look at him fully when she spoke.  
  
“I’m happy, Giles. Giddier than a dozen schoolgirls.” She stared at him suspiciously, her brow immediately furrowing. “Are you? I mean, you said – ” She hesitated. “You sort of said you’d thought about this for a long time. Is it not…what you thought it would be?”  
  
He assumed a pensive mask, hiding his own smile before taking her slender hips in his hands, holding her still as he bucked against her, leaving no question of the considerable proof of his desire. Buffy gasped at the feel of him and he grinned wickedly, even going so far as to stick out his tongue.  
  
“Yes, I’m afraid I want nothing to do with you, you leave me utterly cold. It’s all been a dreadful mistake on my part.”  
  
“You’re a brat.” Buffy stared at him in genuine amazement. “Who knew my Watcher was a brat – and a tease?” She leaned in, her eyes taking on a wicked gleam as she murmured with her lips pressed against his own, “Somebody needs to be taught a lesson.”  
  
Sadly, however, that lesson was delayed, as a moment later the door came crashing open and the whole gang came marching in. Buffy just had time to leap off of Giles, and Giles just had time to grab a pillow and shove it – perhaps a bit too enthusiastically considering his state of arousal – onto his lap before everyone had filed into the living room.  
  
“Is it midnight already?” He tried to appear nonchalant, shifting uncomfortably in the hopes that it wasn’t completely apparent what he was trying to conceal beneath the pillow.  
  
Dawn shook her head. “Andrew got us kicked out.”  
  
Andrew collapsed in the chair opposite the sofa, taking time to move Buffy’s bag only after he’d sat on it.  
  
“I don’t know when England became a fascist state. I was just expressing an informed opinion on the state of American cinema in the twenty-first century.”  
  
Xander sat on the arm of the sofa beside Buffy, taking in her state of disarray with a vaguely amused gleam. “He tried to throw popcorn at the screen.”  
  
“Tried?” Buffy snuck a glance at Giles but then started to laugh, and so promptly looked away. Giles stifled a somewhat hysterical giggle himself, resigning himself to yet another night of sexual frustration when Willow settled on the floor in front of the recliner, helping herself to the remainder of his wine.  
  
“He got the guy in front of us instead. What have you guys been playing?”  
  
Both Buffy and Giles began to stutter uncontrollably, until Dawn pointed out that there were cards strewn on the table. But neither of them could explain the cards either, and so finally gave up and stopped speaking altogether. No one else seemed especially concerned that they were not speaking, however, having seemingly recovered from the awkwardness that had tainted dinner. The banter of the old friends filled the flat, and Giles and Buffy contented themselves with stolen glances and discreet touches as the night unfolded.  
  
By the time everyone had finally worn themselves out and decided on retiring, both Watcher and Slayer were too tired to take advantage of any time they might get to themselves. Buffy followed him into the kitchen once everyone else had gone up to bed, a scant moment of awkwardness dissolving when she backed him up against the refrigerator, a predatory look in her eyes.  
  
“We have too many friends.”  
  
He nodded in hearty agreement, his heart speeding up as she pressed her body against his, reaching her arms up to drape ‘round his neck. Leaning down, he claimed her mouth with his own, reveling once more in the sweetness that was hers alone.  
  
“Yes. We really must stop being so damned hospitable.”  
  
Putting his hands around her waist, he picked her up easily and lifted her onto the counter so that they were more evenly matched height-wise. He settled himself between her legs, feeling her heat as their kisses escalated. Finally, with a genuinely pained sigh, he forced himself to come up for air.  
  
“Buffy, there’s nothing I would like more than to take you here and now…”  
  
She leaned her forehead into his chest with an agonized moan. “I know. But the possibility of being walked in on by little sis or a houseful of Scoobies kind of kills the spontaneity.”  
  
“Indeed,” Giles muttered. “And we both have a long couple of days ahead of us.”  
  
Buffy looked up at him at that, a stricken look on her face. “Oh, god. I totally forgot. Have you talked to Xander yet about the ritual?”  
  
He shook his head grimly, his arousal almost completely forgotten at the thought of the drama to come. “How does one tell a man who’s been through as much as Xander has, that now he has to endure an agonizing procedure without the aid of any kind of anesthetic?”  
  
The sound of someone clearing their throat forced the new couple apart, and both gazed in horror at Xander, standing in the doorway.  
  
“Guess that’s one way to do it, huh?” the young man quipped with a frown.


	20. Chapter 20

“Then what did he say?”  
  
Buffy frowned, throwing an annoyed glance over her shoulder at Dawn, who was bouncing on her heels and proving to be of no use whatsoever in trying to get set up in Sylvia’s house.  
  
“Nothing, really. I mean – he’d pretty much seen me and Giles together, so there wasn’t much use pretending he hadn’t.”  
  
Dawn rolled her eyes. “Not about that; it was pretty obvious what we interrupted when we came back earlier – ”  
  
“So, why exactly did you find it necessary to hang out for the rest of the night, if you knew what we were doing?”  
  
The younger girl shrugged. “I don’t know. It was just so…comfortable, you know? It hasn’t been that comfortable in a long time – where everybody’s there, and there’s no mind-blowing bogeyman out to get us.” She looked up, catching Buffy’s eye with a mischievous grin. “Plus it was kinda fun to see you two squirm.”  
  
“You’re evil,” Buffy muttered.  
  
The Summers sisters had spent the better part of the morning moving in and rearranging their respective bedrooms, at Sylvia’s insistence. Though the Council’s assignment would only last a couple of months in all likelihood, the woman showed little interest in returning to her old home anytime soon. The exception, of course, would be for Xander’s sealing ritual, which would take place in the same bedroom Buffy had stayed in just a short time before. The ritual was scheduled for the next day. After it was done, Sylvia, Willow, and Andrew would catch a plane bound for Jamaica. In the meantime, Sylvia was staying at Council headquarters, insisting that she needed some time away from her old life in an effort to adjust to the more drastic changes to come.  
  
Dawn tossed a pillow at Buffy’s head, prodding further. “Come on – did he look worried? He must be really scared. I mean… it’s a freakin’ branding iron, Buff.”  
  
Buffy sighed, recognizing that this was not a conversation that would just go away. She’d been cranky ever since leaving Giles last night. They’d had a couple of minutes to talk about what was going on after Xander went back to bed, but she wanted a lot more than a couple of minutes. And, really, a lot less talking. At the sight of Dawn, though, with her big concerned eyes and her arms crossed over her chest in the ‘No kidding, I’m not going away until we’ve totally figured this out,’ pose, Buffy yanked her mind away from her Watcher. And all the things she’d totally never expected he could do. Seriously, if there were a way he could put that thing he did with his tongue on his resumé, she was sure he would get a pretty substantial raise.

But she wasn’t thinking about that, she reminded herself firmly.  
  
Sighing, she sat on the floor with her back against the bed, waiting for Dawn to catch onto the fact that they were actually talking about this now. As soon as she realized she had her big sister’s attention, Dawn sank to the floor next to her. Noting that there seemed to be a temporary reprieve from all the work, Moon bounded into the room and settled himself between them, belly exposed in a completely undignified way.  
  
“Okay. What do you want to know?”  
  
Dawn thought about it for only a second before she came out with it. “How did you tell Giles? I mean – the whole thing, about you liking him? How did you guys finally get that out there?”  
  
Buffy smiled widely at the question. “Actually, it was your idea.”  
  
* * * * *  
  
Half an hour later, Dawn was on her feet pacing excitedly. “So, that’s all you did – just a deck of cards? And Giles got it; you didn’t have to explain what you were doing? No ‘cards on the table’ discussion of any kind?”  
  
Buffy shook her head, her eyes gleaming at the memory of Giles following her lead so easily. “Nope. He just got it… And we laid it all out, and that was it.”  
  
Dawn glanced at her watch. “Giles has that Council meeting tonight, right? So he’s not gonna be around?”  
  
Buffy’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “No. What are you thinking?”  
  
“Nothing – I mean, a lot. But nothing horrible. I just – I’ve gotta go, okay? I promise I won’t be back too late. Please?”  
  
“To go see Xander?”  
  
The younger Summers rolled her eyes. “No, to go swim the Thames. Of course to go see Xander. Please, Buff. Please please please, just let me go? Andrew had some lame geekfest tonight, and Willow’s spending some quality smoochin’ time with Kennedy before she leaves… That means Xander’s alone.”  
  
Buffy sighed, barely having time to speak before Dawn was out the door. “Don’t upset him, okay? He’s got a whole big crappy branding thing tomorrow – just please be gentle.”  
  
A moment later Dawn reappeared, leaning down to hug Buffy enthusiastically. “I love you, and I’m really glad you’re back, and I’m really really glad you’re with Giles. I promise I won’t upset Xander.”  
  
And she was gone.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Buffy went to the window and waited until she was sure Dawn was gone before she reached for the phone. Her voice low, laden with desire, she purred into the receiver.  
  
“She’s gone. When can you get here?”  
  
There was a pause before Giles responded, his own voice deeper than she remembered it. A chill started at the base of her spine when he spoke, her knees suddenly weak.  
  
“The meeting’s running a bit long, but I should be out within the hour. Should I bring anything?”  
  
“Just you. And as few clothes as possible.”  
  
Instead of the stutter that she’d expected, Buffy was met with a low, seductive chuckle. “I’ll see what I can do, luv.” Someone must have come into the room then; Giles cleared his throat, his voice all business when he continued. “Yes. This evening will be fine.” He must have put his hand over the receiver then, because Buffy heard his muffled response to whoever was in the room. “Just arranging a – a – ”  
  
“Weapons trial,” Buffy prompted him.  
  
“Weapons trial,” he repeated to the other person. “A weapons trial. For this evening.”  
  
Buffy smiled mischievously. “To make sure your weapon’s in proper working order.”  
  
Giles repeated obediently, “To make sure my weapon is – ” and then nearly choked to death when he realized what he’d been about to say. Buffy’s smile widened to a grin. She murmured “Don’t be late,” into the phone, then hung up while Giles was still trying to regain his composure.


	21. Chapter 21

Dawn was at Giles’ door for what felt like six lifetimes, just about to take off with her heart sunk down to her toenails, when Xander finally opened up. He didn’t look…fresh, but he still didn’t look bad. In fact, he looked the total opposite of bad – if bad were the South Pole, Xander would be making time with Santa and eight tiny reindeer. He was all stubbly (in the sexy way, not the skanky unshowered way) and it looked like he might’ve just woken up.  
  
Once the door was open, Xander just stood there blinking, like Dawn was the last person on earth he’d been expecting.  
  
“Dawn.”  
  
She smiled widely, shifting from one foot to the other, wishing she’d taken more time to get dressed before coming here. All of a sudden, maybe for the first time in her entire life, her skirt felt too short. And her shoes were all wrong. What did you wear when you were going to tell your childhood crush that you’d fallen madly in love with him, just before he was sent off to get poked in the eye (for the second time), this time with burning hot coals? Somehow, she didn’t even think Armani had an outfit for _that_ occasion.  
  
“Hey. Yep – it’s me.”  
  
He frowned just a little, then covered it up with that sad, guilty smile she’d gotten so used to seeing.  
  
“Hey. Uh – Giles isn’t here, he had some Council thing. And if you’re lookin’ for Andrew – ”  
  
“I’m not.”  
  
He looked confused.  
  
“Looking for Andrew, I mean. Or Giles – I knew he had a meeting tonight. And Andrew’s going out with some kind of Star Trek alliance or something, which some people might say is lame, but I know you like Star Trek, and I – well, I mean, I haven’t watched that much of it myself, but there was one where they were cowboys and I didn’t totally get it but I remember – ”  
  
He was grinning – the old Xander grin, without all the scars and baggage. Dawn stopped short.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Do you wanna come in?”  
  
She nodded, hoping she didn’t look too eager. Trying for a super-suave walk that would make even the worldly Italian boys go non-verbal, instead she tripped on the doorsill and went flying. Xander caught her by her elbows; they ended up eyeball to eyeball for a few seconds, Dawn’s heart going like a jackhammer in her chest.  
  
And then he just looked away. Stepped back. Swallowed hard, mumbling an apology. Dawn touched his arm, trying to get the moment back.  
  
“It’s okay – my bad. Good old Dawn; klutz in a clutch.”  
  
Neither of them said a word for a few seconds before Xander finally took a breath and motioned toward the kitchen.  
  
“Do you want something to drink?”  
  
She nodded, relieved, and took a seat on the couch. “Yeah. Scotch would be great.”  
  
“Right. ‘Cause I want to end up in traction this week on top of everything else. Sorry – as long as you’re the Slayer’s little sister, you’re gonna stick with root beer on my watch. At least until the magic one-eight rolls around.”  
  
Dawn grinned, calling after him as he went into the kitchen. “Root beer’s good. Thanks.”  
  
As soon as Xander had disappeared around the corner, she hopped up from the couch and started looking around for a deck of cards. Asking for the cards was out of the question – this was supposed to be smooth. So instead, she started routing through the living room, ransacking drawers, looking under furniture. No dice – er, cards.  
  
“Dawn,” Xander called from the kitchen.  
  
She jumped up from trying to see under the couch, smoothing her skirt and trying to sound cool.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“You want ice? And Giles has some of those cookie-biscuit things. Are you hungry?”  
  
She took a breath, calming herself. “Yeah. Ice and cookies – great.”  
  
Okay. No cards in the desk, or under the couch. She grabbed her cell phone and hit speed dial, hoping Buffy wouldn’t ignore the call. Instead, she answered on the first ring.  
  
“Hey.” She sounded weird – kind of husky, like she had something stuck in her throat.  
  
“Hey – are you getting a cold?”  
  
Buffy coughed, her voice back to normal when she spoke again. “Dawn. No – no cold. Or… Maybe. I don’t know – I thought you were someone else.”  
  
Dawn wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Okay – eww. You thought I was Giles, didn’t you? I’m really happy for you guys, but I want no part in your twisted phone sex games.”  
  
“It was not a twisted phone sex game – he’s coming over here in a while, and I just thought he might check in before he left the office.”  
  
“Whatever – just, don’t ever tell me about whatever happens. Where does Giles keep his cards?”  
  
“How should I know? Ask Xander.”  
  
“I can’t ask Xander.”  
  
“Why?” There was a pause, Dawn still checking everywhere she could think of, before Buffy finally got it.  
  
“Oh – you’re gonna try the card thing?”  
  
“Not if I can’t find the cards I’m not.”  
  
“Oooh – check the weapons chest – over by the stereo.”  
  
Sure enough, mixed in with sacred burial swords and axes and more stakes than you could shake a stick at, was a deck of cards. Dawn just shook her head. Her life really was too much.  
  
“So, if Giles is coming over there, you guys’ll probably want some privacy.”  
  
“We’re just having dinner.”  
  
“Are you cooking?”  
  
“What’s that got to do with anything?”  
  
Dawn grinned. “Because if you’re cooking, you’ll definitely need some privacy; after he tastes that chicken thing you make, you’ll have to sleep with him or he’ll never go out with you again.”  
  
“Have I mentioned that I never really liked you? Mom made me play nice and I felt sorry for you because of that whole key thing, but really… it was all an act.”  
  
Xander came in then, and Dawn quickly moved away from the weapons chest, whispering into the phone. “Just let me know if you want me to stay here tonight – Giles has the extra bedroom. That’s all I’m sayin’. Talk to ya later.”  
  
She hung up and turned to face Xander, who came in with a tray loaded down with drinks, cookies, a bowl of popcorn, and something that was either leftover casserole or dog food.  
  
“Wow. That’s a lotta snack.”  
  
He blushed. “I know. I wasn’t sure what kind of visit this was – the ‘Buffy’s driving me nuts and I needed a break’ kind or the ‘movie-fest for the heck of it’ kind…” He looked away for a minute, his jaw tensing, “Or the ‘Xander’s about to get gotten by a giant cattle-prod and as the youngest Scooby I was outvoted and so must stay’ kind.”  
  
There was a moment of tense silence while Dawn studied him, amazed that he could be so totally clueless. “I came because you’re one of my best friends and I like spending time with you. And because I didn’t want you to have to face tomorrow alone.”  
  
She realized about two minutes after she’d said it that that was just the kind of thing that deserved a card, so quickly threw one onto the table. Xander stared at it in confusion, but then set the food down on the coffee table and sat down.  
  
“Thank you,” he said softly.  
  
She shrugged. “No need to thank me. I like spending time with you.” Another card on the table. Then, just for the heck of it, she added another one. Xander grabbed a cookie, looking frankly kind of nervous, and handed her a tall glass of root beer. And then, silence fell.  
  
Lots and lots of silence.  
  
This should be easy, Dawn reasoned. Find true stuff that Xander doesn’t know, and spill it. There had to be lots of things he didn’t know, right? About her life? Finally, she took a breath and looked him dead in the eye as she flipped another card on the table.  
  
“Buffy bleaches her upper lip so it doesn’t look like she has a moustache.”  
  
****  
  
“Honey, I’m home.”  
  
Giles grinned at the look on Buffy’s face when he entered, utterly amazed at the joy in her eyes. She wore the same light, feminine-looking dress she’d worn during that first afternoon in Rome, a gold cross hanging delicately around her neck. Before he could comment on the outfit, however, his attention was quickly diverted when Moon came bounding after him, hitting him solidly in the stomach with oversized paws. With a surprised “Oof,” Giles barely managed to stay on his feet, gently pushing the dog down.  
  
“Sorry,” Buffy apologized, standing on her toes for a hello kiss. The hello kiss turned into several, Moon dancing excitedly around them, until finally Giles pulled away. Feeling suddenly shy, he pulled his hand from behind his back to reveal a bouquet of flowers he’d picked up on the way.  
  
“I – It seemed appropriate at the time.”  
  
She looked at him with an amused smile. “But after making out with me at the door, it doesn’t?” She sniffed the lilies appreciatively, a lovely flush of happiness on her cheeks. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”  
  
After a moment’s concentration, Giles was able to focus on something other than the beautiful woman before him. Smelling the air, he noted the faint aroma of burned meat and looked at her quizzically.  
  
“Did you… um,” he cleared his throat, “cook something?”  
  
She rolled her eyes. “Nice – think you can make that any more enthusiastic, Mister? I was making dinner.”  
  
Squelching a grin, he removed his jacket and hung it in the corner as Moon settled once more on the floor and he followed Buffy to the kitchen.  
  
“Was?”  
  
She turned, eyes flashing in a failed attempt to feign irritation. “Yes, was. There’s this chicken thing I make, but… I don’t think Sylvia’s oven has the same temperatures as my oven in Rome.”  
  
“So I’ve been spared – er, deprived, of the… chicken ‘thing?’”  
  
“Oh, you’re asking for it.” He backed against the sideboard, noting the mischievous spark in her eyes as she approached him. “Just keep it up, Giles – ”  
  
Taking her by surprise, he met her before she could reach him, unable to resist for a moment more. He leaned down, kissing her hungrily, pulling her body to his as he growled into her neck, “Believe me, I don’t think that will be a problem.”  
  



	22. Chapter 22

Xander thought she’d gone crazy. He must have. Maybe she had gone crazy. Dawn had gone through almost the entire deck of cards, revealing both Andrew and Buffy’s deepest, darkest secrets. And Xander still didn’t get it. She’d just finished telling him about the leopard-print man-thong she’d found in Andrew’s dresser in Rome, when he took a deep breath and set his beer down on the coffee table.  
  
“Okay. No offense, ‘cause you know how much I love spending time with you, Dawnster, and this has been a really…” he searched for the word, shaking his head, before he finally came up with something. “… weird night, but I have an even weirder day tomorrow. If that’s possible.”  
  
Dawn sighed. Carpe diem, right? She tossed the rest of the cards on the table and launched herself at Xander, landing practically in his lap. Before he could react, she took his face in her hands and kissed him with everything she had.  
  
The kiss was a hard-sell for about fifteen seconds, before Xander took over. And boy oh boy, did he know how to take over. Pulling her closer, he did things with his tongue that made those twerps in Rome look like schoolboys (which they were, of course, but that was beside the point). One hand was at the small of her back and the other was tangled in her hair, and Dawn had gone from solid to liquid in sixty seconds flat. Finally, he pulled away and stood up, turning his back on her.  
  
“Dawn, we – we can’t do this.”  
  
She stood up, willing her knees out of their jellified state. “Why not?”  
  
“Well, let’s see… Because you’re Buffy’s little sister, for starters. And I’m – ”  
  
Dawn rolled her eyes, taking a step toward him. “You’re what? You’re not secretly related to me, are you?”  
  
He looked totally freaked at the thought. “God, I really, really hope not.”  
  
“And I’m not a demon. I’m not even a slayer. Xander, I’ve seen the way you look at me.”  
  
He swallowed, taking a minute before he regained his composure and looked at her.  
  
“Dawn, you’re seventeen. You have your whole life in front of you.”  
  
She snorted – outright snorted – at that one. “And you don’t? I’ll be eighteen in a month. You’re twenty-four.”  
  
“You don’t want a guy like me.” He got sad at that, his face clouding over. But Dawn wasn’t about to let it go; she closed the gap between them, looking him in the eye when she spoke, her voice soft. “Xander, I know who you are. I know where you’ve been, what you’ve seen…” She swallowed past the lump in her throat, tears in her eyes at the way he was looking at her: like she must be nuts for wanting him.  
  
“Don’t you get it, Xander? You’re…” She searched for words, finally shrugging as she settled on the one that had changed everything for her. “Extraordinary. And it’s not just a crush, and it’s not wrong, and you’re not – ” she shook her head as the tears spilled when his hand came to her face, his fingers tracing her cheekbone, the shell of her ear, the line of her neck.  
  
“You’re not who they said you were,” she whispered softly. “You’re the bravest, sweetest, brightest, funniest man I’ve ever known.” She took another breath while he just stood there, watching her, looking so serious, so torn. Swallowing once more, she found her courage. “I’m in love with you, Xander.”  
  
****  
  
“We should – ” Buffy gasped when Giles’ mouth found a sensitive spot behind her ear, nipping at it roughly. “I mean – aren’t you hungry?”  
  
He could hear her struggling for control and knew that, if he were playing fair, he would step away and give her a moment. But logic had flown out the window at their first kiss, along with the rules of fair play. He tore himself away long enough to murmur a response to her question.  
  
“Starving.”  
  
“Well, we could – ”

He attacked the spot behind her ear again. She was seated on Sylvia’s sideboard, her hands in his hair, her body firm against his own. At the pressure of his mouth, her breath came in a shaky moan and she pressed herself wantonly against his straining erection.  
  
He swallowed, finally forcing himself to disengage for a moment and think rationally.  
  
“Dear god.” He ran a hand through his hair, turning his back for a moment as he tried to subtly shift himself in his trousers. When he turned back around, Buffy was smiling at him with a look of such pure, feral desire that it took his breath away.  
  
“If you’re about to tell me we should go slow, you’re gonna need to go back in time and undo that thing you just did to my ear. Unless there’s an apocalypse I don’t know about, I’m tired of waiting.”  
  
He smiled, searching for a hint of reservation. There was none. Going to her once more, he lifted her from the counter, a soft moan escaping her lips as she wrapped her legs around him, his cock pressed fully against the heat of her arousal.  
  
Their lips rejoined for another reckless kiss before Buffy pulled away, her eyes burning. “Please,” she whispered. “Giles – I want this.”  
  
The desperation in her tone, the desire in her eyes, shook him to his core. But he still had reservations. “Buffy – I think it’s obvious how very much I want this by now… But I don’t want this evening to be rushed. What about Dawn?”  
  
The faintest smile came to her lips. “Just let me make a call.”  
  
He nodded, but didn’t let her down from his arms, instead walking over to where her cell phone stood on the table with Buffy’s legs still fastened firmly around his middle. Kissing his way along her neck, he handed her the phone, lingering at her pulse point as she dialed. By the time Dawn answered, Buffy’s voice was barely recognizable.  
  
“Were you serious about staying there tonight? That would be okay?”  
  
Giles could hear Dawn’s response, as the phone was nearly as close to his own ear as Buffy’s.  
  
“Okay, please don’t ever ever ever tell me what you’re doing right now, and don’t ever call me in this state again. I’ll see you tomorrow – the thing’s at noon, right?”  
  
Buffy nodded, and Giles mercifully gave her a moment to recover herself, setting her back down on solid ground as she cleared her throat and tried to appear composed.  
  
“I’m sorry.” She managed to look contrite and utterly devilish at the same moment, apologizing to her sister while simultaneously rolling her eyes at Giles. “Yeah – the ritual happens at noon, but Xander needs to be here by eleven. Thanks, Dawn.”  
  
Once she’d rung off, Giles gently took the phone from her hand and set it back on the table.  
  
“She was all right with staying away?”  
  
“I think once she realized what we were up to, she would’ve paid us to be elsewhere. And now…” She took a step closer to him, running her hands over his chest before her fingers lingered on the buttons of his shirt, toying with the top one before meeting his eye meaningfully.  
  
“And now?” he prompted her.  
  
She unbuttoned the first button, standing on her toes to plant a lingering kiss at his exposed chest. Giles closed his eyes at the feel of her mouth on his bare skin, his hand resting at the back of her head, fingers tangled in her silken hair as she continued to slowly undress him.  
  
“Buffy,” he whispered hoarsely.  
  
She stopped, looking up at him with eyes darkened by desire.  
  
“Perhaps we should take this somewhere a bit more comfortable?”  
  
Nodding with a soft smile, a hint of vulnerability touched her lovely features as she searched his face. "We're really doing this."  
  
Giles cupped her cheek with his hand, stroking it gently with his thumb as he considered his answer. "Only if you're absolutely certain it's what you want."  
  
She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes, the house silent for a moment as he waited for her response. When she looked at him again, there were tears in her eyes; he felt that familiar shattering that had become as much a part of daily life as afternoon tea since she had come into his life. Withdrawing his hand at sight of her tears, he swallowed past his own pain, intent on removing any pressure she might feel at the situation.  
  
"Buffy - we don't have to do anything. If you've changed your mind…"  
  
She shook her head vigorously, taking a moment to recover before she took his hand, looking him in the eye as a single tear spilled down her cheek.  
  
"No, dummy - these are happy tears. Don't even think about walking out that door now that we've finally talked everything out and gotten to the good stuff." A playful grin touched her lips, and Giles breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Besides - now that I know those lips are good for something other than talking about the latest Big Bad or lecturing me on my sacred duty, there's no way I'm letting you off that easy."  
  
Giles, who could generally find words for any situation, realized at that moment that there were, in fact, times in life that demanded action. With their eyes locked, Buffy's smile faded when he reached for her, her head tipped up to meet him as their lips met once more. This time, the kiss was more than desperation, more than passion... It was a beginning. Giles swept her into his arms, his blood burning, and carried her to the bedroom.  
  



	23. Chapter 23

Dawn had just gotten through the big declaration of love thing when Buffy chose to call. She could practically hear Giles panting on the other end of the line, and frankly it was a bit much for her to deal with. Monsters, demons, vamps… No problem. Giles horny over her sister? That was eww cubed. She got off the phone as fast as possible, and was still reveling in the fact that Buffy had actually _ordered_ her to stay away tonight at Giles’ place, home of the boy she’d just Harry Met Sally’d…when she realized that the whole Harry-Met-Sally thing…really wasn’t. Dawn had Sally’d for all she was worth, but, frankly, Xander was definitely not Harrying. Or, he was doing the morning-after Harry, instead of the New Year’s Eve Harry. Which was, like, totally unacceptable – especially since she and Xander hadn’t even had a night before.  
  
“Dawn, listen to me.” His face had gone completely white. There was this moment – this quick-as-a-wink instant before the phone rang – when she thought a smile might have touched his lips, right after she’d said it. But that went away fast, and now there was just this kind of panic on his face.  
  
“Xander, you can’t tell me there isn’t something here – I’ve seen the way you look at me, I’ve felt that…” she searched for the word and finally waved her hand in frustration. “That _thing_ \- I know you’ve felt it. I can’t be that far off the mark here.”  
  
The apartment went silent. Xander just stood there for the longest time, studying her. Finally, he looked away, shaking his head.  
  
“I’m sorry, Dawn. I – I mean, I love you, more than my cheesy chips, but…” He swallowed, forcing himself to look her in the eye when he said it. “I don’t feel that way about you. I’m sorry.”  
  
Suddenly, Dawn understood exactly what Buffy felt every time a vamp jumped her. It was that physical; like the words should’ve come with a warning label. ‘I don’t feel that way about you:’ _Do not use without helmet and kneepads._ Tears filled her eyes and Dawn looked away, taking a breath as she nodded hurriedly.  
  
“Oh. Okay. I… I guess I was wrong.” She turned her back so he wouldn’t see her crying, desperately trying to figure out where she’d left her coat.  
  
“I should probably get going – ”  
  
“Dawn.” He went to her, touching her shoulder, and she shrugged away from his touch.  
  
“Xander, it’s no big.” She wiped the tears from her eyes, turning around with a big fake smile. “I just – I thought something was there, but I was obviously way off.” Finally, she found her coat and put it on, hands shaking, heart hammering, belly about to stage a revolt.  
  
He had this wrinkle in his forehead, and the concern on his face just about killed her. “Where are you going? Didn’t Buffy just tell you to stay here tonight?”  
  
The tears were building in her chest. She knew she wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer so she just shook her head, racing for the door.  
  
“That’s okay,” she finally managed. “I better go. Thanks for the root beer.”  
  
And she made it out the door with Xander standing in the middle of the living room, looking completely lost. As soon as she hit the doorstep, the tears started, and didn’t stop all the way back to Sylvia’s.  
  
***  
  
Moon was locked outside the bedroom door. Duke Ellington was low on the stereo. Candles were lit, the lights were down. When he was finally able to focus a bit on his surroundings rather than the woman before him, Giles smiled in surprise.  
  
“Why, Ms. Summers, are you trying to seduce me?”  
  
She grinned sheepishly, sitting on the edge of the bed where he had gently set her a moment before. “Well, I didn’t want to count my chickens before the eggs, but… Well, I was kinda hoping.”  
  
A soft smile touched his lips at the admission. He swallowed past the emotion that suddenly made a deep breath something of a feat. When he found his voice, it was low, laden with desire.  
  
“Come here.”  
  
She stood obediently, taking the few steps to him with their eyes locked. When she reached him, he gently took her shoulders in his hands, wondering at how someone so powerful as a Slayer could still be so soft, so exquisitely feminine. Turning her around, his fingertips brushed along the back of her neck and down to the zipper of her dress. Leaning down, he nipped at the back of her ear as his fingers worked.  
  
A moan escaped her as Giles worked the zipper down, following its path with his lips. When the zipper had reached the end of its track at the small of her back, Giles took a step away as Buffy turned to face him.  
  
There was a wondrous look on her face – half love, half desire – that Giles never would have imagined could be meant for him. She reached up to her shoulders, toying with the straps of her dress for a moment before he shook his head.  
  
“Please,” he whispered. “Let me.”  
  
Closing the gap between them once more, he felt Buffy tremble beneath his touch as he pulled the thin straps off her shoulders. His mouth immediately set to work on her flesh as it was bared, and Buffy wrapped her arms around his neck as he slowly worked her dress down, revealing her body inch by miraculous inch.  
  
And then, on the other end of the house, Moon started barking. The front door slammed. Buffy and Giles both froze, and then flinched as one when Dawn’s bedroom door slammed. Buffy closed her eyes, shaking her head in abject horror.  
  
“This can’t be happening.”  
  
Giles straightened, swallowing with great difficulty before attempting to readjust his trousers painfully.  
  
“Dawn?” he whispered reluctantly.  
  
Buffy nodded. “Not a good sign. She knew what we were doing – coming back here was the last thing on the planet she would’ve wanted.”  
  
“Perhaps she just needs a good night’s sleep,” he intoned hopefully.  
  
Buffy grinned in surprise, hitting him lightly in the stomach. “Hey! You’re supposed to be the responsible one here. You want me to ignore my sister’s broken heart just so you can get a quick happy?”  
  
He sighed, then looked up once the words had registered. “Broken heart? She’s found someone in London already?”  
  
“Yeah – the big one, according to her.” She turned, gesturing toward her zipper. Giles obligingly – albeit reluctantly – zipped her back up and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, waiting for her to continue.  
  
“It may be kinda tough to believe, but… Actually, she seems pretty serious. My little sister’s head over tailbone for Xander Harris.”  
  
Giles brow furrowed in confusion, and Buffy rolled her eyes. “Don’t look so shocked. Dawn’s had a crush on Xander forever.”  
  
Giles nodded. “Yes, that’s been quite apparent. But Xander – ”  
  
“Apparently doesn’t feel the same way.”  
  
Giles shook his head with a frown, his eyes suddenly distant as he went to the bedroom door.  
  
“On the contrary: Xander’s been smitten with Dawn for far longer than he’d care to admit,” he said, almost to himself. He turned to Buffy distractedly. “I assume this requires bountiful amounts of ice cream and a decided lack of anyone harboring an extra y-chromosome?”  
  
She nodded, watching him skeptically. “Yeah.” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What’s going on? All of a sudden you can’t wait to get out of here.”  
  
He leaned down to kiss her lingeringly, then – with great strength of will – stepped away.  
  
“Trust me, I go reluctantly. But it doesn’t seem as though I have much choice… You go tend to Dawn. And, while I wouldn’t tell her that she should be picking out china patterns, I would let her know that the death knell has not necessarily sounded for her and Xander.”  
  
Buffy quirked an eyebrow, and he grinned self-consciously. “Sorry. It’s not over till the fat lady sings,” he translated hurriedly. At that, he left a dazed Buffy standing with a pronounced pout at the bedroom door. A moment later, he reappeared, gathering her in his arms and kissing her desperately – one last gulp of air for a dying man.  
  
Pulling himself away once more, he whispered, “And for the record: My…happies, as you call them, are _never_ quick.”  
  
And he was gone.


	24. Chapter 24

Once he’d left, Buffy took a deep breath, ordered her raging hormones to give it a rest, and went to Dawn’s bedroom door. At the sound of her sister sobbing through the door, Buffy’s sexual frustration officially took a backseat.  
  
“Dawn?”  
  
There was another sob, then a sniffle, then a pause before Dawn finally spoke. “I’m sorry. I know I ruined your night.” She started crying again and Buffy rolled her eyes. How did she ever survive seventeen?  
  
“It’s okay, Dawn. Can I come in?”  
  
There was no response, so Buffy took that as an implied yes. Pushing the door open, she couldn't help but feel sympathy pangs at the sight of Dawn curled up on the floor, sobbing into Moon’s fur.  
  
Buffy sat down beside her, stroking her sister’s hair as Dawn’s crying gradually slowed.  
  
“Wanna tell me what happened?”  
  
Dawn shook her head, sitting up and wiping away her tears. “No. I just made a complete fool of myself, lost one of my best friends,” her tears started again as she finished dramatically, “And I’m never falling in love again.”  
  
With that final proclamation, she buried her face in Moon’s fur again. Moon and Buffy exchanged resigned glances, and Buffy sighed. It was going to be a long night.  
  
****  
  
Giles returned to his flat to find Xander and a half-empty bottle of his best scotch on the sofa. He sat down beside the younger man, but Xander barely glanced his way. Instead, he turned the program he was watching up another notch, and Giles ordered himself to remain calm.  
  
“How was your evening?” he asked, raising his voice slightly to be heard above the television. Xander merely shrugged, slumping further into the sofa.  
  
“Have you eaten?”  
  
Another shrug, and Giles knew that his sexual frustration from earlier would most certainly not help matters here. He took a breath, and tried again.  
  
“I heard Dawn paid you a visit.”  
  
At this, he was at least granted a sideways glance. “Yep,” was the best Xander could do in terms of conversation, however.  
  
They sat in silence a moment longer before Giles had finally had it. Taking the remote from Xander’s hand, he switched off the television and turned to the young man.  
  
“Dawn seemed fairly upset when she got home this evening.”  
  
At this, a flash of concern crossed Xander’s face. He looked away from Giles, staring off into the corner.  
  
“Is she okay?”  
  
Giles nodded, softening at the fleeting vulnerability Xander had shown.  
  
“She’s all right. She’s hurt. And…confused, I expect. As am I.”  
  
Xander turned to look at him curiously. “What are you confused about?” His words had a faint slur to them.  
  
“I thought you liked Dawn.”  
  
The young man seemed to consider this for a moment, turning it over in his mind as he refocused his gaze on the blank television screen.  
  
“Yep. I like Dawn. Known her forever. She’s a good kid. A good, smart, beautiful…kid.”  
  
He leaned over the side of the sofa for the scotch, not bothering with a glass as he took a long gulp before handing the bottle off to Giles. The Watcher considered for a moment before taking the bottle and tipping it back, savoring the burn as he weighed his next words.  
  
“It’s my understanding that she’s rather fond of you, as well.” A slight smile touched Xander’s lips – not a pleasant smile, however. It was a smile borne of pain, twisted with cynicism and regret. He nodded.  
  
“She said she’s in love with me.”  
  
“And you find that amusing?” Giles took another pull from the bottle, refusing to dwell on how utterly blasphemous it was to be wasting scotch of this caliber on a conversation that would have gone just as well with malt liquor.  
  
Xander turned to him, studying him with a wisdom that made Giles recognize what a stretch it was for the boy to consistently play the clown. He was no fool; Giles fervently hoped that Xander would understand that himself one day.  
  
“Did you ever meet my parents?”  
  
Giles shook his head, his eyebrows coming up in surprise at the question. “No. I – I’d just missed them in hospital when you were there. And I don’t believe they ever made it to the parent-teacher conferences when I was working at the high school.”  
  
Xander nodded with a small laugh. “Trust me, they never heard word one about parent-teacher conferences. Not that they would’ve come anyway, but that was all I needed. And you weren’t at the wedding, so – ”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Giles offered quickly, feeling that familiar burn of shame at his own selfishness. “I couldn’t get away.”  
  
Xander waved the apology off. “Don’t worry about it. ‘s not like it would’ve been any different if you were there.”  
  
The way he said it implied that perhaps Xander didn’t believe this was necessarily the case. For a moment, Giles considered the same thing. What would have changed if he had made that trip to Sunnydale?  
  
He looked up to find Xander watching him. When their eyes met, the boy looked quickly away. There was a long pause before he finally spoke again, keeping his gaze carefully from Giles.  
  
“Y’know how, when you’re at holidays and the family’s all together? And they tell stories about all the dumb stuff the kids did when they were knee high?”  
  
Giles nodded, curious to know where this might be leading. Xander took another gulp of scotch, and cleared his throat.  
  
“Yeah. Well – family shindigs at the Harris house. You wanna know the story they told about me?”  
  
“Xander – ” Giles interrupted, uncomfortable both with where the story was going and with the look of detachment and resignation on Xander’s face.  
  
Xander turned to him then, his eye devoid of tears, holding up a finger to silence the other man.  
  
“Ssh. Just let me…”  
  
Giles nodded silently, waiting. Xander took a breath, seeming to consider his words before he began.  
  
“When I was maybe seven, my Dad took me hunting. Very big deal with the Harris men – drinking beer and carrying guns. You can see how I’d be psyched.”  
  
He fell silent. Giles watched him, aware that Xander was back there now, lost in that moment. Finally, he spoke once more.  
  
“So: Beautiful fall day in the outskirts of Sunnydale. We’ve got beer, and those sausage things that spurt cheese – it’s all pretty manly, let me tell you. It’s me, my Dad, my cousin – Al, about my age – and my uncle John. Did I mention I’m seven?”  
  
Giles mouth quirked up in a faint, humorless smile at Xander’s attempt at levity. Xander took a breath, then continued.  
  
“So, we were camping out. I woke up about… I don’t know, it was probably like four, five in the morning. Still dark. And I had to go to the bathroom, but my Dad and John were passed out, and Al was never the sharpest knife in the drawer – though he was always the meanest. So I figured, ‘To hell with it, I can handle this.’ Took off on my own.”  
  
He considered the bottle in his hands, studying the liquid for a moment before taking another drink. Handed it off to Giles, and finally went on.  
  
“So, the rest I wouldn’t even believe if I hadn’t heard it around the dinner table so many times. I mean – I remember it, but it feels more like a dream than an actual 3D event that I was part of. So,” a quick intake of air. “I’m wandering around the woods, and – of course – I get lost. And I come across this glade, and in it, I find this deer. It was unreal. I mean, just beautiful. I wasn’t a very big kid, and this deer seemed huge.” He paused, looking to Giles to see if the man was actually paying attention. Giles, utterly rapt, took a brief pass at the scotch, nodding his head, indicating for Xander to continue.  
  
“So, the deer just comes to me. I got really still, and… I don’t know. I remember thinking, ‘I’m supposed to kill _this?’_ And it just stayed with me, for the longest time. Wandered around, grazing or whatever deer do, but kept coming back to me, kind of like it was keeping an eye on me, y’know?”  
  
Giles nodded, realizing the implications of the story – though it seemed Xander had no idea at this point. For a moment, there was silence as the boy struggled with the next portion of the story. His gaze on his hands now, his jaw tightened as he fought the rising emotion. Giles thought again of the devoted boy he’d known in the library. Fighting a surge of emotion himself, Giles touched Xander’s arm reassuringly, attempting a smile.  
  
“Go on," he urged, though he had an uneasy feeling he knew exactly where this was going. Xander shrugged, shaking his head as though to clear it of the images that lingered there.  
  
“Right. Go on. So – my old man wakes up. Finds me gone. Gets pissed, grabs his gun – maybe to shoot me, maybe to shoot any roaming beasties – and ends up finding me, in the clearing with the deer. I didn’t hear him, too caught up in that whole bonding with nature thing, I guess. But my father takes aim, and drops the deer with one shot. I’m maybe a foot from it, looking this animal in the eye, when she goes down.”  
  
A tear tracked down the boy’s cheek, and Giles considered what it would take to undo years of being told he was responsible for all the worst things the world had dealt him.  
  
“The point,” Xander said, swallowing past the tears, sitting up straighter as he set the bottle on the floor and turned to look Giles in the eye. “…is that this is what I do. For whatever reason, there are these moments when something beautiful comes into my life. And, without a second thought, I lead them to the slaughter. Cordelia.” He swallowed, his voice losing something, a degree of resonance, a grounding that had been there until this moment. “Anya.” He broke on the name, the tears coming harder now.  
  
Giles took him in his arms, holding him as the boy let the events of the past several years finally drain from him. When it seemed that the tears had slowed, Xander pulled away, looking mortally embarrassed and pale. Giles stepped in quickly, refusing to let him diminish what had just happened with some self-deprecating quip.  
  
“That deer – you said it was as though it were watching over you?”  
  
Xander nodded, obviously surprised at the aspect of the story Giles had chosen to pursue.  
  
“It probably was – watching over you, I mean. As children, those destined for higher aims often have…a guardian angel, for lack of a better term, who guides them through to adulthood safely. Xander, you were born to make a difference; to do exactly what you’ve done. You’ve saved all of our lives a dozen times, fought harder than anyone among us, and invariably remained more devoted to your friends and the larger goal of maintaining good than anyone I’ve ever known.”  
  
He paused, smiling fondly at the look of wonder on Xander’s face as he continued softly. “Anya wasn’t your fault. You gave her things that in eleven-hundred years, she’d never had before: You gave her the chance for redemption. The fact that she took that chance is entirely because of the humanity you taught her. It’s time you recognize that, and stop punishing yourself for events that were out of your hands.”  
  
Xander wiped away his tears roughly, that shamed look still on his face as he sought a way out of their emotional exchange. He quirked an eyebrow at Giles.  
  
“So – let me get this straight: You’re telling me, twenty-four-year-old, demon-killing man-of-the-world, to go out with your not-entirely-legal, might-as-well-be daughter? You really want me with Dawn?”  
  
Giles considered the question for a moment, pulling a serious face. “Well, when you put it that way…” He grinned, rolling his eyes. “Honestly, Xander, stop making everything so bloody difficult. You are not your parents, on countless levels. The fact that these things have happened is unfortunate, but a matter of course when you’re raised on a Hellmouth. Now, use your experiences to become an even better man; I’ve seen you do it a hundred times before. In the immortal words of Cordelia Chase, ‘Spank your inner moppet’ and get on with your life already.”  
  



	25. Chapter 25

The next day, Giles showed up on Buffy’s doorstep at 10 a.m. with a decidedly sheepish Xander by his side. Giles had already called Buffy earlier that morning, giving her a brief idea of what had transpired the previous evening and instructing her to ensure that Dawn was there when they arrived.  
  
The two men entered the house, Giles leaning down without reservation to kiss Buffy hello, a satisfied gleam in his eye when he caught the look of surprise on Xander’s face. Buffy caught the look as well, straightening to her full 5’2” with a challenge in her eyes.  
  
“Giles and I are…dating.”  
  
Xander nodded. “Well – yeah, I know. I just figured you guys would do some lame sneaking-around thing and we’d all have to pretend we didn’t know.”  
  
Giles put his arm around Buffy’s shoulders with a shake of his head, amazed at how open she was about the recent shift in their relationship. “No sneaking around. No pretending.” He was about to launch into a rather elaborate speech he’d prepared on the value of honesty among friends when Dawn stepped out of her bedroom, and Giles effectively lost his audience.  
  
If last night had been the trauma that Buffy had implied when they’d spoken on the phone, the younger Summers showed no signs of that trauma now. She wore jeans and a fitted sweater, her hair down and her manner several degrees below room temperature. Arms crossed over her chest, she entered the room and leaned against the wall casually.  
  
“Hey, Giles.” Her eyes skated past Xander before she added coolly, “Xander.”  
  
Xander took a deep breath, looking to Giles for some support. Giles merely shrugged. There was no help for the boy now. Xander seemed to accept this, squaring his shoulders and taking a step further into the house.  
  
“Dawn, can I talk to you a sec?”  
  
She shrugged, maintaining that deadly calm, and Giles shuddered at the idea that both he and Xander were willingly entering into relationships with the Summers women. Gods help them both.  
  
“I don’t know. I’m kinda busy today.”  
  
“Dawn,” Buffy intoned threateningly. Dawn shot her a withering glare. “Play nice.”  
  
Rolling her eyes, Dawn shrugged again, nodding toward her bedroom. “We can talk in there.”  
  
* * * * *  
  
When they were in her room, Xander looked even jumpier than he had before - especially once he caught sight of the fire blazing away in the fireplace. For a minute, Dawn actually felt really bad for him.  
  
“Oh – wow. I guess this is where they’re gonna do the…thing, huh?”  
  
She nodded, still trying to stay cool. “Yeah. I was hoping they could do it in a place that wasn’t, like, my personal space. But this room’s been blessed or something, so…this is it.”  
  
It seemed like he sort of forgot why he was there then, because he just sat down on the bed like someone had let all his air out, staring at the fire. And it was impossible to be mad at him this way; Dawn sat down beside him and stared at her lap, waiting through the silence for a few seconds before she sighed.  
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
He smiled – sort of – and turned to look at her, studying her for the longest time with that sad smile before he reached over and took her hand.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
While Dawn was technically all about power to the woman and feminism and all that jazz, she pretty much lost the fight then. His hands were warm – not sweaty warm, but warm in that way where she could tell that whenever she got chilly, Xander would give her his coat and she wouldn’t have to feel bad. She twisted herself sideways on the bed, managing a sort of glare that definitely had no menace behind it.  
  
“You were kind of a jerk.”  
  
He nodded. “I know. I was. And I… I didn’t know what to say. There I was, minding my own business, when this crazy,” she started to interrupt, but stopped when the next words were out. “…gorgeous woman – who also happens to be one of my best friends – tells me she’s in love with me. I panicked.”  
  
He had been looking at their hands, but now he met her eye. “I didn’t mean to hurt you – I never want that. I just… I didn’t know what to say.”  
  
She rolled her eyes. “Well, that was pretty obvious.”  
  
A few more seconds passed in silence, and Dawn squirmed uncomfortably as she tried to figure out what had just happened. Finally, she gave up on ever being good at this stuff.  
  
“So, just for the record… we’re not having the ‘I love you but not that way’ talk again, are we?”  
  
Xander moved in a little closer, still holding her hand in one of his, but with his other, he touched the side of her face. Tucked her hair behind her ear, and leaned in. Dawn closed her eyes, breathing in that familiar Xander-smell that no other guy would ever get right, and was smiling when their lips finally met.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Giles glanced at his watch, then back at Buffy. Sylvia had arrived with Willow, and now the four of them were standing outside Dawn’s bedroom door in an awkward silence. Finally, Sylvia cleared her throat, gesturing toward the clock.  
  
“I don’t mean to be insensitive, but if we’re to do this on schedule, I’ll need an opportunity to prepare the room. As well as Xander.”  
  
Giles nodded, but seemed distinctly unwilling to act. Taking Buffy by the elbow, he pulled her aside and whispered, “Perhaps you should go in there.”  
  
“Me? Why me? You’re the - ” she trailed off at his glare.  
  
“If you’re about to say that I’m the adult, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”  
  
She stuck out her tongue, barely suppressing a devilish grin. “I was going to say you’re the _guy_ \- the one Xander’s been telling all his deepest darkest to.”  
  
“But what if they’re…?”  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes, pushing past him to knock loudly on the bedroom door. “Hey, Hormones on Parade! I’ve got Slayer hearing; I know what those smacking noises are. Now pull yourselves together and open this door so we can get on with branding Xander.”  
  
She shot a glance at the others, who were staring at her with genuine horror.  
  
“What? You said get them out here – I’m not waiting all day for this.”  
  
* * * * *  
  
When Dawn and Xander came out of Dawn’s room, they were holding hands. Both looked flushed and a trifle breathless – as well as considerably concerned. Sylvia greeted both of them briefly, handing off a white robe for Xander to change into before disappearing into the bedroom. There was a moment of awkward silence before Dawn finally cleared her throat, tilting her chin up in that maddeningly familiar Summers posture, and announced, “I’m going in with him.”  
  
Giles shook his head immediately. “Dawn, I’m sorry – it really isn’t the place for you. For one thing, you need to be experienced in magicks – ”  
  
“Which I am.”  
  
A trifle unnerved, he continued. “More than floating pencils and burning incense, I’m afraid.”  
  
“Please – I’m way more advanced than that. Just ask Willow.”  
  
Giles turned to the redhead in question; she nodded apologetically. “Sorry – I’ve been teaching her some stuff. She’s really good, actually.” Before he could protest, Willow added hastily, “And I cleared it through the coven – they know we’ve been doing witchy things.”  
  
He nodded seriously, trying not to be hurt that Willow hadn’t said anything to him before this. “I see. Well, be that as it may, this is hardly a ritual for the squeamish. Xander needs someone who is psychically strong enough to give him the mental and emotional support he needs. He needs someone he can depend on absolutely.”  
  
There was a moment’s hesitation, during which Dawn looked considerably less certain than she had. Finally, Xander pulled the girl aside and leaned in to speak to her privately. A moment later, the two returned to the rest of the group. Xander looked cautious, but determined. Ignoring the rest of the room, he looked at Giles.  
  
“If it’s okay with you, I’d… Would it be okay if Dawn came in? I mean, I know you were looking forward to seeing me in ungodly amounts of pain, but… would you mind?”  
  
Giles was unable to hide his fondness for the boy, trying to cover his pride with a dry smile. “It will be a sacrifice, of course. But one I expect I’m willing to make, if you’re both quite certain.”  
  
Dawn and Xander each took a deep breath before nodding as one. With the decision made, Xander excused himself to change; moments later, he reappeared at almost the same moment that Sylvia did. She smiled kindly at the boy.  
  
“Are you ready?”  
  
He swallowed, squared his shoulders, and finally nodded. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”  
  
Hand in hand once more, Xander and Dawn followed Sylvia into the room. Just before they disappeared, Giles heard Xander ask Dawn conversationally, “So, Dawnie, have you ever seen a grown man cry?”  
  
She grinned. “Oh, sure, plenty of times. But just think – one eye, that’s like half the tears.”  
  
They would be just fine.


End file.
